Predators' Dance
by Erkith
Summary: Surreal returns to Terreille, severing all ties to the SaDiablo name. But Lucivar and Saetan are stubborn snarly males, and when Daemon refuses to help them find her they set assassin against assassin in a predators' dance. Post Kaleer's Heart.
1. Blood Price

**Disclaimer:** All characters, setting, world, and other BJT related items are property of Anne Bishop. I only wish I wrote that well…

**Author's Note from Erkith:** I always thought Surreal was a fascinating character and she got cheated of love in "Kaleer's Heart" which was immensely unfair. I also caught an excerpt of a short story Bishop wrote (that I have been unable to obtain…grrr) that gave me an idea for a pairing… I'll try to update soon (soon being a rather relative term…) _italicsthoughts_, **boldingmind speech**

Dedicated to **Lady11Occult** who's fanfics inspired me to write in this fandom (thanks also for the editing).

Please ENJOY!

_**Erkith

* * *

**_

**Predators' Dance**

Chapter One: Blood Price

"Uncle Saetan, sugar, do I look hurt?"

_Yes_, Saetan thought darkly. _Yes, you do_.

Oh, it wasn't physically visible. She was still all balls and sass Surreal, but there was a coldness – an edge – to that purring tone. Terreille's whore had not been linked to Daemon before, not directly; looking at her now, Saetan couldn't see how Dorothea had missed that one.

That smile of hers was pure Sadist.

It left a bitter taste in the back of his throat to see that cold smile again. He'd thought they were past this now. He'd thought Surreal had finally found acceptance – that she'd been healing the heart wounds. Falonar would pay for reopening them, for pushing her back into that hell.

The hell one weaves around one's self for protection... a web of cold and vicious indifference – a web to hide loneliness and despair.

Centuries of pain are hard to forget… Saetan knew it all too well.

Falonar would pay the price for bringing her back to this.

Saetan looked up at her, and saw that her trust had turned to unease – to fear. _Do my eyes scare you, child?_ He wondered. Or was it the cold anger seeping through his skin, chilling the room?

Without warning, she bolted from his study. He didn't chase her.

**Daemon he crooned softly over an ebon-grey thread. Lucivar. I just had a… visit… with Surreal**.

* * *

_Shit. Shit… Shit… SHIT! _

Surreal cursed herself three times a fool. She'd just had to run to Uncle Saetan. What had she been thinking!

_Nice idea there, Sugar. Next time just stick a blade between his ribs yourself. _

She was still bitter enough that the idea held some appeal. Quite a bit of appeal, actually.

_Fuck him. The bastard._

But she didn't want him dead. Hell, if she'd wanted him dead he would be! She was more creative and twice as deadly as Falonar.

_What kind of man can't stand a little bit of healthy competition? Bastard._

But Mother Night! Surreal had looked into the eyes of the Sadist long enough to know what that glazed look in Saetan's meant. It was then that she'd realized the stupidity in her plans – they didn't deserve to be called tactics – escape Lucivar, run to the High Priest of Hell, and then run from him to the Sadist!

_Hell's fire!_

It should be their damn title. It suited them. Cold, powerful, vengeful, and dangerous… so dangerous. Surreal muttered a long string of curses as she mused over Kaleer's Protocol. She'd be lucky if Chaosti didn't get involved; how in Hell's name was she supposed to stop Lucivar, Saetan… or worse, Daemon?

_Why can't I go back to being an orphan?

* * *

_

The earthy smell of fresh-cut grass made her smile. The cool summer's breeze played with her long, black hair, blowing it out gently behind her. The sun warmed her already sun-kissed skin. She basked in the elemental beauty of the park as she wandered through it, Daemon at her side.

It felt good to have him there. He was a warm presence of strength and friendship that soothed her. Even in silence, she appreciated who he was, and what he was to her. Daemon was the only constant in her life – the only face from her past.

"Do you ever miss it?" Surreal asked looking out over the windblown field.

Daemon frowned at her. The question had been born out of a long silence. And since they'd been talking about Janelle and his marriage previous to that… The question came out of nowhere and made absolutely no sense.

"Do I ever miss what?"

"Killing."

There was a slight pause in his step as Daemon's golden gaze shifted to hers; he sighed as the expression in her Dea al Mon eyes confirmed that this was not an idle question. She was looking up to him for the answer, watching him. "Yes."

He saw her head lower as she nodded. He was struck, as he hadn't been in years, by how small she was – how fragile those Dea al Mon bones were. He was reminded abruptly of the young girl he picked up off the streets some hundreds of years past.

"Surreal." He turned her to look at him, saw the frustrated tears threatening to spill, and hugged her close. For a moment they were what they had been: a desperate young witch and a vicious Warlord Prince searching for roots. "I'm sorry."

He'd been the one who'd taught her to kill. _It seemed like a good idea at the time. It was all I knew. _

"For what?" She asked. "You taught me all that I know – all that kept me alive, all that kept food on the table, and all that kept me sane. If bloodlust is the price of your friendship, it's a price I'd pay again. You gave me a life, Sadi. I can never repay that." She laughed at herself. "Mother Night, I sound like a sappy old maid."

"You were the first girl I ever cared for." Daemon said softly into her hair. He felt her stiffen against him, and laughed softly. She was worried she was ruining things for him and Janelle… How quickly she'd made the leap. Who had taught her that she was a destroyer? Falonar? Anger simmered, but he pushed it back. "Not like that, Dreamer."

_Dreamer._ It had been… centuries since he'd called her that. She relaxed into him.

"Remember that night I found you? Soaked in that raping bastard's blood, you were so young and scared, probably your first kill, but that didn't stop you from hissing and spitting at me." He smiled fondly. "All balls and sass, Surreal. That certainly hasn't changed, darling."

She snorted.

He continued the memory. "Dorothea had been playing her sick games worse than usual. I sat through two shavings and a torture session of an innocent man that day. Some bitch had tried to… flex her power over me… I was courting the killing edge when I stumbled upon you."

"Sugar, you never stumble." Surreal muttered into his shoulder.

He smiled into her hair. "That night, I was about as close to giving up on Witch as I've ever been… what was the point in fighting? Dorothea always won. What reason was there for me to wait? Who needed a vicious Warlord Prince like me? Then this little spitfire witch, full of dreams, walked into my life and gave me a reason. I saw you there; bleeding and vulnerable, and you pulled me back."

"From the killing edge?" Surreal pulled away to stare into those gold eyes. Surely he exaggerated… It took a Queen to control a Warlord Prince.

It was simply said. "You needed help."

There was really nothing to say to that. There was certainly no denying it. But Hell's Fire, Warlord Princes were the strangest things.

"I need to kill." Surreal confessed after a moment. "Need to, Sadi."

"Anyone in particular?"

She had to laugh. Mother Night, did he have to sound so academic about it? She took a step back from him, shaking her head. _Sadi, you bastard._

"I'll just get a job. That should do it."

He studied her for a moment. He could see her mind leaping in true Surreal fashion; her mind was probably going through her contacts, smudging out the ones who had most likely been purged. She was on her way already.

Janelle had said Surreal needed purpose. This probably hadn't been what she'd meant…

"Coming out of retirement?"

"You know me, too flighty to sit and play cards all day. Know anyone who needs an assassin, sugar?"

With a hint of a smile, he flicked her a coin. "Go kill Falonar for me."

Surreal snorted out a laugh. "Sadi, don't tempt me." And with that, she caught the Gray Wind and vanished. Daemon shook his head and laughed. His little dreamer had just absconded with his money. _Bitch._ He thought, amused.

* * *

Why did I ever leave Terreille? Surreal considered the question as she studied the lifeblood dripping into the scarlet pool on the floor. The tang of copper mixed with the stink of fear and sweat filled the inn room.

With a predator's grace, Surreal performed an intricate dance across the floor; her feet avoiding the blood by inches. No sense in leaving bloody footprints across the innkeeper's lodge.

True, she could have air-walked over it, but that wasn't nearly as much fun. Surreal wanted the challenge.

She'd missed this: the vicious anger and delicious violence of the kill.

The Dark Realm certainly had its share of violence, but it was blatant and direct, which was not exactly lucrative for someone of her… skills – unlike Terreille. There was definitely something to be said for the decidedly devious brutality its denizens enjoyed. Surreal both the despised and liked them for it. Her purse was heavy with proof that they had not changed since the purging – not in the least.

Jealous wives. Cheating husbands. It was all very mundane – until she'd been offered this job. Rapists. Her latest victims were all abusers, the veritable scum of the earth. And the lifeblood of Terreille's crimson drenched history…

Surreal glanced back as she collected a hanging lamp from the floor and tucked it under her arm. The man swinging in its place didn't deserve the attention he would get.

"Everything has a price, Sugar. Eventually." She muttered to him as she shut the door firmly. _Everything has a price._

The words trailed her like a motto.

She wasn't just a whore, wasn't just an assassin. She was an avenger.

* * *

"What the hell is that?" The Queen asked, snappishly.

"It appears to be a lamp, Adele." Her lover responded blandly.

"A lamp. What do I need another lamp for?" She glared at Surreal. "I hired you to do a job, not play interior designer."

Surreal, didn't appreciate the tone, and casually calculated the amount of craft needed to snap the skinny bitch's bones.

"You asked for proof of the kill." Surreal tossed back nonchalantly. "This is it."

The consort's eyebrows rose. "How does a hanging lamp prove that?"

"It doesn't. She hasn't done it." Adele turned on her lover, "I told you we should have gotten a man."

The disgust in the tone rubbed the already thrumming bloodlust in Surreal's veins. But the little queen was beyond noticing her increasing peril, ignoring both the flare in the assassin's eyes and the warning in her lover's touch.

The consort, set to defuse both women, said; "I confess some surprise. I rather thought someone of your profession would have brought more convincing proof."

"Sugar, this proof is a lot easier to conceal than a severed head. And trust me, this'll be pretty convincing tomorrow morning."

"Then we'll pay you tomorrow!" The Queen snapped.

"You'll pay me now." Surreal picked at an invisible chip along her nail as the deadly quiet tone answered.

The consort winced.

"No!"

"I've a reputation, Adele. You should know I don't boast."

The little Queen stomped her foot as she petulantly refused, "I will not! Come back tomorrow or bring me a better prize."

_How about the guardsmen_, Surreal thought snidely. _Would that be convincing enough?_ "I don't think you understand. I'm not leaving."

"Well I am!"

The dramatic exit was somewhat spoiled as the stupid creature walked into the Gray-locked door. Hissing, she strode over to another, and another, meeting the same resistance.

"You can try every door, sugar, but a weak, little Purple-Dusk witch like you is just not going to get through those doors." Surreal pointed out, calmly. She had guessed quite correctly that the lightness of Adele's jewels was a sore point, and Surreal had no compunction in exploiting it.

Nonetheless, the dumb bitch kept throwing power at the locks. "Calin. Open the damn doors."

She felt him sigh, then the flex of his power testing her locks. He threw Surreal a wary glance. "She has something stronger than the Green up, Adele."

Surreal surveyed the Green-Jeweled Prince with some curiosity. He seemed intelligent enough. **Why are you serving such a stupid Queen?**

He blinked, but responded warily. **Who else would I serve?**

**Mine.**

He paused, as if unsure he wanted to know the answer. Or maybe he was just surprised she served. **Who's that?**

Surreal smiled coldly. **Witch.

* * *

**

He hadn't been able to confirm the rumours.

Three weeks of chasing his bloody tail around Hayll, and he was no closer to unearthing Surreal SaDiablo's lair. The rumours were hopelessly and worthlessly out of date. But how could one witch be so impossibly difficult to find?

The Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince got the impression he was trailing in SaDiablo's wake.

Darkness knew he'd stumbled upon enough of her shamelessly grisly execution scenes, so how in Hell's name did he keep missing _her_? It was maddening!

Rainier stood facing the door, knowing he had missed her again, by inches. He could smell the copper and death from here, and had only to read to confirm his suspicions.

_Price_

The five-letter word had never looked quite so ominous – of course, it wasn't everyday that one stumbled upon it scrawled across a door, in blood.

_Blood_. Rainier thought, with a chill. _As in: Blood Price._

Shit. He let out a deep sigh as he turned the knob. It was going to be another long night.

* * *

**Surreal.**

She crouched down and petted the wolf thoughtfully. He waited in alleyways while she did her work. He trusted her to take care of herself on a job, but somehow her ability to protect herself did not extend to walking around Terreille alone, in his eyes.

She could hardly protest. It was a compromise. Surreal rolled her eyes in a general comment on males.

**Yes, Graysfang?**

**There's someone tracking you.**

**Me?**

The wolf nodded. Surreal straightened abruptly.

**Where?**

**Not far.**

Graysfang gave her what amounted to a doggie shrug. She sensed that he didn't really know how describe the distance.

**Show me.**

With a soft woof of assent, the Kindred wolf led her through a web of alley's and streets, each shadier than the last. Surreal trusted Graysfang's instincts, but snapped up two gray shields around them. Trust was one thing; being stupid about it was another.

Graysfang paused. Surreal snarled at him. If he was going to go all snarly on her, over the shield; that was just too bad. He might have teeth and claws, but she was an assassin with a Gray-Jewel. The Purple-Dusk Warlord wolf would just have to take it.

But all he did was wag his tail and give her a friendly wolf grin.

**Human was here.**

"How did you know he was following me?" Surreal asked, still unsure just how 'not far' they'd gone.

The wolf gave her a baleful look. **He was tracking you.**

But… She wouldn't have missed someone literally trailing her. She wasn't _that_ out of practice. She shook it off. It was probably something that didn't translate into human understanding. Surreal ran into that species barrier with Graysfang from time to time.

"Can you find where he is now?"

**Human den.** The wolf paused, as if trying to translate. **Tracked you to human den.**

There was a shuffled step down at the end of the alley. The footpad sensed the power in the dark witch as she turned her green-gold eyes on him and wisely decided to find less troublesome prey.

Surreal turned back to the gray wolf staring up at her. "Which den?" She frowned, "The Inn?"

Graysfang lowered his head in confirmation. She cursed. "Mother Night, why didn't you tell me before? I could have caught him there, and then we wouldn't have to worry about that bastard sneaking up on us."

She let out another stream of curses.

Graysfang watched her pace, his head resting on his paws. He'd only tried to help. A soft whine escaped him.

His lady gave him a frustrated look, but crouched beside him, stroking his head. "Oh Graysfang, I know it's not your fault you're not human. Sometimes I wish you were human just so you'd understand, but most of the time you're exactly what I need. My wolf," she said with amused possessiveness. "Let's go see if we can become the trackers and find his lair."

His ears perked up. **I already did that!** he exclaimed, jumping up and spinning in a quick, excited circle. **Come. This way.** And with that, the wolf practically pranced down the alleyway.

_That's my wolf._ Surreal thought. _Gray's Fang_.

* * *

Rainier was soaked. And freezing. And feeling completely useless.

_Another night wasted._ The door slammed behind him. He was damned tired of this shit assignment. _Lucivar should chase his own damn cousin around Terreille and leave me out of this._

Hell's fire. He hated Terreille. Really hated it. _One of those side effects of having been a slave to the fucking Ring of Obedience._ Bitterness tightened the back of his throat.

_Why in Hell's name had she come back here? Hayll of all places?_

He shrugged out of his shirt before throwing it to the floor irritably. It slapped wetly onto the wood; he couldn't bring himself to give a damn.

The subtle flick of dark power to lock the door was the only warning he got. Rainier threw himself sideways, narrowly escaping being tumbled by a flash of silver fur. He let his momentum carry him across the tight room and rolled to his feet in a smooth motion. He called in his dagger. _Kindred?_

He didn't have time to worry about it. He lashed out with Opal, and felt the answering shield. It was strong. Too damn strong. _Shit._

A dark shape lunged at him, its flashing blade plunging straight for his heart.

Rainier shifted his weight, swinging low into his would-be killer. Damned if he would let her kill him now. They both tumbled the floor, twisting for dominance. Physically he was a sight stronger than she could ever be, but she was damn slippery, and he didn't want to hurt her. Or rather, he didn't want to end up facing Yasi or – he swallowed, worse – Sadi if he did.

It was an unfair advantage. She was aiming to kill. He was attempting to have them both come out in as few pieces as was possible. Her goal was considerably easier. As she tried to jack-knife up, he rolled her. He thanked the Darkness for the dance training that had allowed him to anticipate her moves as her knee scarcely missed his balls. _Bitch. _He swore at her sharply as her blade sliced into his shoulder.

_Enough._ He flipped her and pinned her with Craft and weight. He felt her dive for the Gray and dropped her head onto the floor with enough force to break her concentration.

Pain shot through his shoulder. The feel of teeth was unmistakable. _He'd forgotten the damn pet wolf._ Using a wave from his Opal-Jewel, he threw the Kindred wolf into the far wall.

He turned back to his captive. "Hell's fire, woman! I'm Second Circle; you might ask next time." His damn lip was swelling. "I'm going to kick Yasi's ass for this," he spat blood to her left, "hope you don't mind."

* * *

**A/N:** Hope you enjoyed chap one! Please review and let me know what you thought: suggestions, criticisms, even flames (as long as you're not afraid to sign them), and of course encouragement are very much appreciated.

I do my best to answer my reviewers (It's a writing _community,_ isn't it?) so please don't hesitate to ask questions…

_**Erkith**_


	2. Deadly Calm

**Disclaimer:** All characters, setting, world, and other BJT related items are property of Anne Bishop. I only wish I wrote that well…

**Author's Note from Erkith:** Chapter Two! I've had no end of trouble with it… including a re-write (ugh!) so I sincerely hope you like it!

Special thanks goes out to **Lady11Occult** (my BETA) who pointed to a really bad idea of mine and told me it sucked. Her fics are awesome! You should read them!

Thank you to all my reviewers! I love you all!

_Enjoy!_

_**Erkith

* * *

**_

**Previously…** "Hell's fire, woman! I'm Second Circle; you might ask next time." His damn lip was swelling.

* * *

**Predators' Dance**

Chapter Two: Deadly Calm

"I'm going to kick Yasi's ass for this," he spat blood to her left, "hope you don't mind."

Surreal blew the hair out of her face. She had one sucker of a headache forming. She closed her eyes, relaxing under him. He didn't release her – smart man. "Hell, sugar, if you can do that, I'd be happy to watch."

He was damn good, she realized. He'd have to be, as he'd exhibited superior level of control in their tussle. She'd have a few well-placed bruises and a bitch of a headache, but otherwise, and through little skill of her own, she was untouched.

It was more than could be said for him. He was spitting blood as well as being spitting mad. It said something that he'd managed to beat her with only him sustaining any notable injuries, and nothing major at that. It spoke of intense training and a respect for Protocol – the old ways. Surreal was impressed that he'd come out relatively unharmed, but knew she'd caught him with the knife at some point.

Surreal tried to shift just enough to see his arm, but all she managed was a squirming motion that left her more vulnerable as he instinctively shifted to pin her down more firmly with his body.

"If you think I'm letting you up, SaDiablo, you're delusional. We're going to talk." Rainier said tightly.

Her green-gold eyes narrowed on his. "Where's the harm? If I ran, you could pin me again, couldn't you?" She challenged. Males were nothing if not stupidly prideful about their physical prowess.

Rainier snorted, not rising to the bait. "I have you pinned now," he pointed out.

She glared.

"SaDiablo, you're a pissed off Grey Jeweled witch currently employed as an assassin. In addition, you're cousin to Yasi and Sadi and niece to the High Lord – the most vicious Warlord Princes of the blood – all of whom would happily castrate me if they thought I done you a moment's harm. Not to mention that you've already led me through a long, frustrating hunt, pounced upon me in my own residence, stabbed me, and set your pet wolf on me. I am NOT letting you up until I'm good and ready."

Surreal snarled at him, and then froze. _Pet wolf? Where was Graysfang?_

Anger faded as concern set in. **Graysfang?**

_No answer._

Anger re-established itself.

"What did you do to him?" she snarled, wriggling and fighting beneath her captor.

"Who?"

"Graysfang!"

"The wolf?" Rainier managed a small shrugging motion without shifting his weight. "Threw him into a wall."

She dove for her jewels.

He used Craft to drop her head again with a sigh.

Tiny white stars danced and arched across her vision. Nauseous dizziness threatened.

"Stop that." He flicked a probe over to the Kindred wolf. "He's unconscious. He bit me, and he got thrown, so we're even."

"He was just trying to protect me!" Surreal snapped.

Rainier raised an eyebrow, smirking. "I'm male, SaDiablo, I know what he was doing, and applaud the action so long as it doesn't involve sinking those teeth of his into my flesh.

It was that twist of mouth that sharpened her memory. "I know you."

"We've met," he answered shortly.

Studying his features, Surreal tried to place him in her memory, and couldn't quite manage it past the headache.

"What?" she asked, taking the offensive, "Have I screwed you or something?"

He gave her a long look and decided to ignore that comment.

"Okay," Rainier said, pausing to spit some of the blood oozing from his swollen lip. "So now that we're comfortable." He received a glare for that one. "I'm going to tell you a little story about why I'm here."

* * *

Daemon reached for the rich brandy before he sat back, crossing his legs at the ankles. If he was going to endure what promised to be an interesting and irritating family fight, he might as well be comfortable; he figured as he felt two dark powers sweeping across the winds towards him on the Winds.

He sighed.

**Daemon?** Janelle asked from another area of the house, likely the stables. **What are Papa and Lucivar doing here?** She paused. **Have you done something I should know about?**

Daemon felt a small smile tug at his lips. **Not that I know of.**

**Then why?**

Feeling power brush through his house, Daemon sat up and attempted the ruse of doing work. **I think I'm about to find out, darling, but I suspect it's Surreal.**

**Surreal?**

**If she's done what I think she's done we'll be lucky not to be hosting Chaosti as well.**

He could almost feel her groan across the link. **What has she done now?**

**What do you mean _"now"_?**

**Falonar.**

**Hardly her fault…**

**True… but still…**

**Damn. **Daemon cursed. **They're almost here.**

**Good luck, darling.**

He just knew she was laughing.

The study door slammed open and nearly flew off its hinges as it admitted two very angry Warlord Princes. Angry just wasn't a strong enough adjective, furious came a bit closer…

Daemon made a point of raising an eyebrow. "Gentlemen?"

"I thought you said you'd take care of it!" Lucivar accused. "'Leave her to me', you said!"

Saetan made a cold demand. "Where is she?"

"Who?"

"Surreal!" his brother exploded. "Who else from the First Circle has dropped from range?"

Daemon fought the urge to smile. "Maybe she wanted some privacy. She could have taken off her ring."

"Privacy!"

"You'll admit it is a bit elusive in this family. Between my marriage, your hectic household, and breaking it off with Falonar, who wasted no time in finding another woman to play sucky face with…" Daemon paused, considering, "and our subsequently violent reaction. Surreal probably deserves a break from us."

"She couldn't stay in Askavi to do that?"

Daemon snorted. "Where could she possibly go to avoid mention of all that?"

Lucivar let out a pretty stream of curses. "Where'd she go?"

Daemon shrugged.

"Could you at least narrow it down to a TERRITORY!"

"Terreille."

"As in Little Terreille?"

Daemon lifted a brow. "As in the Realm of…"

"TERREILLE! Where?"

Daemon simply shrugged again, dropping his eyes to the smooth wood of his desk.

"You don't know!" Lucivar slammed his fist on the desk, glaring furiously and his brother. "You let her go to Terreille and didn't bother to find out where she went? Don't you care about her at all? No, of course not, who does the Sadist care about besides himself?" It was very deliberately not a question.

The accused went very still but said nothing.

Lucivar hissed his frustration. It was difficult to get a reaction. He gestured, his whole body emphasizing his words. "I've looked bloody everywhere for that witch, and I can't find her! I can't even locate where she crossed the border! Not a single Surreal or SaDiablo or anyone matching her description."

"Changed her name."

"Yes, well I realize that!" Lucivar snapped.

"Probably changed territories before switching realms too…" Daemon mused.

"Probably…"

"As for her appearance… I doubt that Surreal would have much difficulty passing herself off as just about anyone…"

"She's made it damn hard to track her!"

"The secrecy would be rather pointless if she didn't." A smile flickered on his lips.

Lucivar glared.

Daemon flicked a glance at his irate brother. "I suppose it occurred to you that the reason you can't find her is that she doesn't want to be found?"

"I don't care!"

Daemon tapped a long-nailed finger on the desk, and this time looked up straight into Lucivar's eyes and held firm. "I recall being accused of that."

"The difference is I'm human enough to care if Surreal dies!"

Golden eyes narrowed, and the air bit cold. "Careful, Prick."

A ripe Eyrien curse lit the air. "You object to that! Hell's Fire! You care about Janelle and yourself, Bastard. No one else! In fact, to hell with anyone that gets in your way!"

The temperature continued to spiral.

Daemon let out a long, slow breath, fighting against the instinct to hit back. "Prick, Surreal's a Grey-Jeweled assassin. She's not a hapless child; she won't get hurt."

"No?" Lucivar's voice rang with derision. "I must have imagined her hurting last month."

Ice began creeping up the walls.

"Just like I imagined you leaving countless courts trailing your wake as rubble. Just like I imagined you raping Janelle as a child. Just like I imagined you raping and breaking Surreal and reducing her into fearful obedience."

"Stop." They all knew where this was going.

"Just like I imagined you dragging, dropping, and dismembering the broiled bodies of my family before my eyes."

There was a silence as he paused. "But look, both are alive… my, what an imagination I must have. To believe that my brother would do such a thing…"

"Stop." The word was desperate.

"Damned if I will! It's true!"

"You said you forgave me, Prick."

"No, Bastard. It's not something I can just forgive. Especially when you're doing it again. There's something cold in you that should never be that cold. You're the cruelest, most self-centered, amoral, honourless, good-for-nothing, whoring bastard I ever had the displeasure of knowing…

"Lucivar," Daemon pronounced in slow, deadly tones, "shut up."

Wings flared with Eyrien temper. "The Hell I…"

"QUIET." Saetan snapped out the order with paralyzing clarity. Both of his sons looked up at him, Daemon from behind his desk and Lucivar leaning on it. Saetan studied his mirror and knew. "You are lying," he said with devastating precision. "You know exactly where she is."

Daemon stared back calmly.

"Where is she?"

_Nothing_.

Saetan stepped closer to the desk.

"I said. Where… is… she?"

_Nothing._

Cold, gold eyes stared straight into his, unfearing.

Saetan felt his eyes glaze over. "Where… is… Surreal?" he crooned.

Daemon blinked but remained silent.

"You're not going to tell me." Again, not a question.

He answered it anyway. "No."

"Surreal has disappeared into the most dangerous Realm without warning, taking no guards of any kind, closing all of her accounts – every…single…one – and she's moving under a false name. She doesn't intend to come back. She's leaving the family!"

"Or maybe she just won't need them."

"What do you mean?"

"She's fairly rich in her Terreillean accounts to begin with…"

"And now she's going to work? Is that what you're thinking?" Saetan lifted a brow.

"I believe that was her intent."

"As what? A high-priced whore?" Saetan sneered. "Well, she's got all the practice for that. She's no better than Dorothea… of course, neither are you."

Daemon went so still, Lucivar was no longer sure he was breathing. His eyes closed once, and when they opened, a icy blast of power surged through the room, his golden eyes glazed with rage, and that cold smile spread across his face.

The Sadist had entered the study.

A shiver ran through Lucivar's body. He wasn't sure if it was the ice on the wall or Daemon's empty gold eyes that caused it. But he would have put his stake on the latter.

The door, which had slammed shut during one of the arguments, opened with an eerie creaking that betrayed its age.

**Consider this: I have first claim. I know where she is, and she is mine to protect.** The spear threads were very much the weapons they claimed to be.

"Surreal is fine. I will not betray her to you. " The Sadist said flatly. "So _get out_."

Saetan and Lucivar glanced at each other.

Neither of them hesitated in the slightest to obey with alacrity.

* * *

"So Lucivar put you up to this?" Surreal asked with deceptive calm.

Rainier snorted. "More like he ordered me to, really."

"So his main message is come home, right?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Did he say why?"

Rainier paused, sensing that her tone had grown a bit dangerous. "You know… I don't believe he did."

Surreal gritted her teeth. "Someone dying?"

"Not to my knowledge." Rainier returned rather too cheerfully.

"Someone died lately?"

He smiled. "Assuredly, but mostly at your hand."

She seemed to think that deserved a glare.

"Am I going to kill someone?" she asked sweetly.

He sighed. "Oh, I imagine, but I do have fond hopes that it is not me."

She smiled sourly. "Don't worry, you're not family, and I don't contract out on you… yet."

"Nor I on you, exactly."

"Let me go, would you?"

He rolled off her so that they lay side by side, staring at the ceiling. He rolled his stiffening shoulders. "No offense, SaDiablo, but I hate your cousin."

"None taken. I'm going to kick my foot so far up his excellent ass that he'll be standing for a week."

"Excellent ass?" He turned his head to look at her. "Are you supposed to notice stuff like that?"

"Hard to miss, the way he paints on those pants of his…"

Rainier choked back a laugh. He really didn't think Yasi would have enjoyed their conversation nearly as much as they were. "He's your cousin."

"I'm a relation, not blind!" She retorted.

He had to laugh. "And how are you going to make-up with Marian if he's… indisposed?"

Surreal snorted. "I'm fairly confident that Marian can come up with something on her own. Being the resourceful sort that she is, I don't that'll be a problem for her… Eyries have fairly sturdy walls…"

An eyebrow winged up. "I'm tempted to ask if you're speaking from personal experience…"

Her dark brow matched his as she raised herself on one elbow to look him over. Her eyes swept down the lean body that had pressed hers into the ground. "But?" she asked with interest. Normally men didn't hesitate to ask her anything once they found out she was a whore.

The Warlord Prince flicked her an annoyed glance and settled back to stare at the decrepit ceiling. A long sigh escaped him. "Unfortunately, I know better."

She gave him a second considering look, and then laughed. "I think you do, sugar. I really think you do."

To his surprise, she crawled right on top of him, letting her body slip over his in a pulse thrumming slide. Her lips brushed his skin as she whispered at his ear, "But you still want to… know… don't you, sugar."

Her hands snaked down his chest, hitting every pulsing point unerringly. She blew words of warm appreciation into his neck. Then, breathing quickly, she turned so that her lips hung mere inches from his. Exotic green-gold eyes drifted to his lips before snagging his green ones.

A shiver ran between them.

As his gaze lowered to her mouth as her hands brushed over his arms.

His eyes narrowed and shot up to hers as she viced his wrists between her fingers.

"Shit."

And lightning fast, she pinned his arms above his head.

He fought too late, bucking beneath her smaller body, but against tethers of Grey. "Damn. You."

She smiled and stood, having called in real manacles and fastened them to her satisfaction. The scowling Warlord Prince on the floor improved her mood immeasurably. "Mmm… thank you."

"Bitch."

She grinned. "You know, I haven't had that much fun seducing anyone in years."

Rainier closed his eyes. He didn't need to **see** her gloating. "You need to get out more."

"Probably," she agreed. "Graysfang?"

**Yes?** The wolf trotted over to them.

"You can bite him if you like." Surreal offered.

Rainier opened an eye to look at the ruffled canine who sat by his shoulder grinning.

**I can't. **Graysfang said somewhat sadly. **He's second circle.**

"He threw you into a wall!"

The wolf's eyes narrowed, debating…

**Lucivar sent me**, Rainier added on a spear to spear thread, just to be sure…

The pup sighed. **I bit first, and Lucivar sent him.**

"A shame. Fine then, if you're not going to bite him, let's go, Graysfang."

**Goodnight, human.**

**Goodnight, wolf.**

A polite wolf. That was nice.

"Prince."

"Lady."

That too was polite. Suspiciously so…

_Surreal… polite?_ He thought.

He should have known then that they would cause him no end of trouble…

* * *

**A/N:** Hope you enjoyed the chappie! Thanks for reading and (hopefully) reviewing… Let me know how I can improve, if you hated it… and of course if you LIKED it! All comments and questions are welcome! I'll do my best to answer reviews…

THANKS TO MY REVIEWERS! (Those I can't easily get in touch with…): Vicki, crazy, LucivarLover, meggo, and SD.

_**Erkith**_

PS. I have a BJT one-shot out too… _hint hint_


	3. Competitive Edge

**Disclaimer:** All characters, setting, world, and other BJT related items are property of Anne Bishop. I only wish I wrote that well…

**Author's Note from Erkith: **I cannot explain how fractal this chapter was. I wrote a section on a plane. I wrote a section in a bus. I wrote a section at home. I wrote a couple sections tonight at university and even one in a coffee shop at 3AM. It all came together in the end, if way, WAY behind schedule… For which I cannot apologize enough. It is; however, almost 5000 words… could we count that as 2 chapter's worth…? No?  _Sigh._

Well, I'll try to do better, but well… I'm me. Back to the drawing board.

Thanks to **Lady11Occult** my BETA.

THANKS TO ALL MY READERS AND REVIEWERS!

_Enjoy!_

_**Erkith**_

PS. Feel free to yell at me. I miss SO many deadlines…

* * *

**Previously: **He should have known then that they would cause him no end of trouble…

* * *

**Predators' Dance**

Chapter Three: Competitive Edge

Marian stormed out of her kitchen in disgust, tired of listening to her husband giving one of his flunkies orders. The man seated across from Lucivar at her kitchen table looked as uncomfortable with the ass of an assignment as she was…

"You want me to **what**?" The Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince just stared at him.

Lucivar repeated himself. "I want you to go find Surreal and bring her back." Again, the man just stared at him, this time not even speaking. Lucivar opened his hands. "Cat got your tongue?"

The man simply blinked. "Let me make sure I understand you on this. You want me to hunt down Surreal SaDiablo – a Gray-Jeweled assassin trained by the Sadist – and bring her unwilling self back to you unharmed."

Lucivar considered this. "That sounds about right."

With a groan, the Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince collapsed into the back his chair rubbing his hands over his face and began muttering under his breath.

"What?"

Rainier parted his hands to glare at Warlord Prince of Ebon Askavi and repeated. "You are **insane**."

Lucivar smiled grimly. "But you'll do it."

"You are **out of your mind**."

"But you'll do it."

"Do I have a choice?" Rainier asked, clearly miserable.

"Not really, no."

The damn fool was grinning. Rainier dropped his head back into his hands. "Great. Sure. I have nothing better to do than commit suicide anyway."

Lucivar laughed. His cousin wasn't **that** bad… "What's the problem Rainier? Afraid you're going to get your elite ass kicked by my bratty cousin?"

"Sure, Yasi, add more pressure. Remind me she's your cousin, and that you'll kick my ass from here to Hell if I lay a scratch on her."

Grinning, Lucivar clapped a hand on Rainier's shoulder. "Just so we're clear."

The Warlord Prince just groaned. "Where is she?"

"I don't know. Sadi refused to say."

A silence fell like an executioner's blade through the conversation. Rainier froze. Slowly, really, really slowly, his hands slid away from his face until he was once again staring into Lucivar Yaslana's golden eyes. "Refused," he repeated very slowly, "not couldn't or didn't say. **Refused**." Anger began to fill his green eyes. "What have I done to you, Yasi? Mother Night! Why do you want me dead?"

Lucivar frowned. "I don't particularly."

"Then why aren't **you** going to go pick up your cousin yourself, and why am **I** the one facing the Sadist's displeasure?"

Lucivar stood from behind the kitchen table in a smooth motion, moving until he was leaning against the furthest counter. He raked his hands through his hair uneasily. Finally, he simply sighed and answered, "Because I'm already in the black with Daemon, and both my father and I can't find her."

Rainier felt his skin prickle. "The fucking High Lord of Hell can't find Surreal, and you expect me to, how?"

"I don't know. You're the assassin; you figure it out. All I can tell you is; start in Terreille."

There was another large pause as Rainier went utterly still. Finally he said, "Little Terreille?"

"No," Lucivar growled, still pissed at the thought of it. "**Terreille**."

Rainier closed his eyes. "Mother Night." Hell's Fire! Terreille, his own personal Hell. He hated that Realm, hated every fucking thing about it. Hated the nightmares it still dragged from him.

Interpreting the reaction as agreement, Lucivar pressed his point. "You understand why we need her brought back?"

"No."

Shocked and a bit angry, Lucivar said, "Darkness! She's in **Terreille **of all the hell holes! I thought you **hated** Terreille. I thought you knew the evils of that Realm first hand, as I do."

"I do."

"I thought you didn't want to go back there!"

Cool green eyes met narrowed gold. "**I don't**."

"But...?"

"It's Surreal's choice as far as I'm concerned." Rainier crossed his arms. "She's a big girl; she can take care of herself. From what I've heard, she does. And clearly Sadi thinks so too."

Irritation lit Lucivar's face. _How_ _could Rainier side with Daemon on this? **He'd** trained the bastard, not Sadi, damn it!_ "Sadi doesn't give a shit about Surreal. If he did, he'd help us find her."

Rainier considered that for a moment, and frowned across the kitchen. "You're wrong about that. I think Surreal is very, very important to Sadi."

Lucivar glared.

The assassin spread his hands. "Think about it. She gets away with shit no one but Jaenelle does. He hits the killing edge, and she doesn't even bother to back up; she's not afraid he'll hurt her."

Lucivar snorted. "Everyone's afraid of the Sadist. Even Surreal."

"Afraid of what he might do, yes, but not for her own life. I doubt he's ever really threatened her. He'd protect her if he thought she was in danger. "

"Get to the point, Rainier."

"I think that we should let Sadi deal with her. Presumably, he knows where she is. If it were up to me, I'd take my cues from him, since he knows her best."

"Well, you're not one of her males, so it's not up to you, now is it!" Lucivar snapped back.

"No, it's not. However, let's make it very clear that I disagree with this."

"Duly noted. Your orders remain the same."

"This is stupid."

"But you'll do it?"

"Hell's Fire!" Rainier rose to his feet angrily. "You're not exactly giving me a choice, Yasi!"

"Gentlemen, do we have a problem here?" Saetan's cool voice slipped through the room. Both men looked at him in the doorway. "Marian is in the foyer, slamming things."

Throwing Yasi a glare, the assassin turned to Saetan and sketched a bow. "I think we're done here." He walked to the door and called back, "It's been nice knowing you, Sir. I'll give my thanks to Marian on my way out."

Saetan watched the Opal-Jeweled Rainier stalk out and waited for the front door to slam before turning to his son. "That went well I take it."

"Oh yeah." Lucivar said and saluted him with a snifter of brandy. "I'm really popular around here. We'll be lucky if he doesn't go see Sadi first."

The High Lord raised an eyebrow. "He didn't look suicidal."

"Doesn't need to be, he's convinced he's already dead, which is a distinct possibility."

"He knows about Surreal."

"That's she's an assassin?"

Lucivar frowned. "Yeah… what else could I have meant?"

"That she's disappeared." Saetan said tightly, angered at the thought.

Lucivar swirled his brandy. "Who doesn't know about Surreal?" he asked before tossing the liquor back.

"Chaosti?"

Lucivar nearly choked, slamming the glass onto the table. "You're joking." His eyes widened in horror as Saetan slowly shook his head. "Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful!"

* * *

Rainier swore as he heard the door close behind the bitch-witch and her furry companion and struggled against the spelled cuffs. The effort was, as he had suspected, completely useless. Even with Craft, he couldn't open them any sooner than they decided to release them. She'd either had the manacles custom made, or she'd created the spells that bound them herself. Surreal would know exactly how long he'd be held here, in the way that all assassins needed to know their weapons; she'd be long gone before he got free of the stovepipe she'd hooked him to. 

He couldn't believe he'd fallen for her seductive wiles… Knowing her reputation for both whoring and killing, it should have been the first thing he'd thought she'd try. Remembering, just how skilled and manipulative she'd been made him hiss with self disgust. Her strategy had worked damn well.

It was brilliant, he was pretty sure. Once he got over the anger and the humiliation of having his quarry trap him, Rainier thought he might even be able to see it that way. In the meantime, there was a spitting-mad Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince ensnared in a little inn with nothing but furniture to take it out on, and nothing to look forward to other than another long, frustrating hunt.

Rainier sat back and closed his eyes. He probed at the spelled cuffs, feeling the magic for flaws. The power itself felt enough like the dregs he'd picked up at some of the murder scenes that he was pretty sure it was Surreal's. But, oddly, the workmanship of the spell was strangely familiar… as if he'd seen something like it before. He twisted his body so he could better decipher his tether, and nearly wrenched something in his back as he realized whose work it reminded him of.

The web looked suspiciously like a design Jaenelle had once made as a prank. Back when he'd been her dance instructor, Jaenelle and his other erstwhile students had tricked him into letting them blindfold him after an unwise boast that he could do a dance "blindfolded". To which – had he thought it through – it would have been obvious that they would demand that he prove it. What had been meant as a sarcastic critique of their middling and distracted efforts was turned into one of the Coven's triumphs as they not only tied a blind to his eyes, but also bound him with cuffs.

Protesting that he'd not laid the claim that he could dance handcuffed, had only earned him fits of giggles, and when he'd used Craft to free his wrists, someone had spelled the cuffs. Rainier had struggled vain with strength, Craft, his jewels and eventually a pick before one of the boyos decided to mention who'd locked the cuffs. No one could be expected to break Jaenelle's work.

In defeat, he'd attempted the dance – which had not been the simplest thing to do in the first place – both blind and tethered. It was surprisingly easy once he'd figured out how to balance the movements against his dual handicap, and he was halfway done and earning both laughter and applause when disaster struck. Focused on dancing with no visual clues, Rainier was moving on physical memory, his body compensating for the cuffs so automatically he'd forgotten about the restriction. That is, until he went into the off-balance jump section, landed, and without his arms to stabilize him or catch him, crashed spectacularly into the ground face first.

Thoroughly contrite in face of his bleeding nose, the girls unbound his eyes so he could see the damage. They circled him with a cacophony of apologies that only served to make him feel smothered. Injured and coddled beyond his ability to endure, the Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince shoved the crowd back with a light burst of the Rose that sent them all sprawling onto their butts. They forced him to shield them off too; as they persisted in trying to make sure he was okay. When Jaenelle had approached his protective circle, he'd growled at her, which earned him a nod of respect and slight smile that he just didn't understand at all.

"Prince," she said, "we'd like to help."

He glared at her, and offered the cuffs up as proof that she'd "helped" enough already.

She grinned. "Prince Rainier, I can't free you from them if you won't let me get closer, and you can't undo them yourself."

Refusing to believe her, he shot the metal full of Dark Opal power, and earned nothing but warm steel. He looked at the web surrounding the steel and had to silently admit that he saw no way out. He looked up at his Queen and her first circle with narrowed eyes. "I really hate you right now…"

Their responding grins were very ill disguised. "We know; we're used to it." Khary said cheekily.

"Khary!" someone hissed. Rainier had the satisfaction of hearing a pained curse coming from the vicinity of Khary's comment. Morghann had probably stepped fairly sharply on his foot. Just because Khardeen was stupid enough to provoke an angry Warlord Prince didn't mean the girls were. Hell, they'd better not be, some of them where Queens and would have to deal with them consistently someday.

Jaenelle was still standing in the edge of his shield. She hadn't crossed it, but it was evident that she could. Still, she asked. "Will you let me take the cuffs off now?"

He nodded reluctantly. She stepped through the barrier as if it weren't there. It was absolutely disgusting how little difficulty she had with it. Cupping his wrists, she lanced the spell with a delicate twist of power that he couldn't follow. His hands slipped free. He rubbed his wrists gingerly.

"Damned dangerous things." He muttered.

"Yes, I'm sorry. We didn't realize how much you needed your arms free for that sequence; you were doing so well." She healed his nose as she spoke.

"I've been telling you all year that arms are important," Rainier shot back irritably.

She shrugged, offering him a hand up. He rose and scanned the faces around him. Then a wicked grin spread across his face, and the concerned witches and warlords turned wary.

"Double-time, my darlings…" They visibly paled and groaned in disbelief as he sped up the dance to a merciless pace with an hour still left in class. His expression had turned positively evil. "Let's dance."

Rainier smiled wryly in memory. Damn, but that had been a good class. They'd crawled out of his room whimpering, much to the amusement of Saetan once the circumstances had been thoroughly explained. Incidentally, they'd had class with Lucivar the next day. Every single one had an early morning encounter in the lake for shoddy practice and being late. Having your muscles strung so tight you couldn't move was apparently not sufficient excuse with the Eryien warrior.

That class resulted in two things.

One, his classes became miraculously prank-free.

And two, Jaenelle had worked a failsafe into her manacles so that anyone in immediate physical danger could free themselves.

So, if Surreal had copied a Jaenelle original, there was a loophole he could slip through…

A loophole created, ironically, literally for him. He was also probably the only one who knew about it. If he could get free, he just might be able to get a jump on that notoriously elusive Gray-Jeweled witch. The thought of it alone made his mood shift to something competitive and predatory.

Rainier closed his eyes and relived the moment where he'd been suspended in the air; his arms jerked against the chain in an effort to break his fall. His breath caught. And then just as he reached that moment of absolute clarity that told him he was going to hit the ground with bruising force, the cuffs snicked open and fell harmlessly to the floor.

Rainier laughed, shaking his head in appreciation. _Clever, clever Jaenelle_, he thought. He rolled to his feet and collected the manacles and slipped them into his pocket. Having never tried to bind Janelle with her own cuffs, he had no idea if they'd work against their creator, but figured it didn't hurt to have them in his possession. Never knew when they'd be useful in his line of work.

Surveying the room, Rainier vanished his belongings and grabbed some of the mud the inn called coffee. He sipped the brew leisurely as he sent out feelers for Surreal's trail. It was faint, but still there.

His quarry wasn't as smart as she thought she was. She'd turned the tables on him, and he'd be delighted to return the favour. Call it a nice competitive edge.

* * *

"Oh, Graysfang," Surreal choked out, doubled over in laughter, "did you see his face when I cuffed him? Mother Night, what I wouldn't give for a photo of that!" 

**Photo?** The wolf asked in confusion.

"Photos… you know – the pictures of people. Like the one the High Lord has of his sons on his desk."

**Why?**

Surreal just shook her head. Unable to explain the satisfaction she'd gained in tricking the poor Warlord Prince, or, even less, her desire to have lasting proof of it; she settled on, "It's a human thing."

Graysfang accepted this as so. There were many things "human things" that the wolf had classified as being impossible to understand. He'd told her on numerous occasions that humans were strange creatures. She couldn't exactly disagree with him. In her time as both assassin and whore, she'd seen humans do some mighty odd things.

The Kindred made so much more sense. Their major goals were: eat, play, hunt, love and sleep.

Rather like men in some respects, but men were a pain in the ass.

Marian had tried to introduce her to a prospective boyfriend a while back. Surreal had begged out, claiming that Graysfang was all the male she needed at the moment. Marian had mentioned the obvious flaws in this logic… things Graysfang couldn't do for her. She went so far as "well he can't keep you warm in bed" and was treated to a scathing repartee that made the hearth-witch blush. The topic was dropped. Much to Surreal's amusement, Lucivar managed to walk in shortly after, and puzzled over his wife's reddened cheeks. Marian had offered her a home-cooked dinner if she'd keep her mouth shut. Surreal had smiled at her baffled cousin and accepted the bribe graciously.

She wondered if Lucivar had managed to pry the conversation out of his wife yet. She somehow doubted it. Marian was made of sterner stuff than that.

Graysfang nudged her out of her reverie with a spear thread. Her prey had finally left the tavern she'd been staking out, a woman supported on his arm. Surreal spit in disgust as the woman lurched unevenly and had to cling to her intended-rapist for support. With a breath of power, the assassin lifted their voices off the wind.

"_Lover," the woman said drunkenly, "I feel like I have wings. Can't you cut off my feet? They're dragging me down. I want to fly."_

"_All in good time, darlin', all in good time," the man promised. "First we dance; then we fly."_

Surreal knew from her contractors, that the promise was made in all seriousness. The man was known to mutilate his victims on a whim. Her employer was damn lucky that the drugs her attacker dosed his victims with hadn't made her say anything as dumb as this blonde had; otherwise, the future Queen of a foreign province would have been short some parts.

Surreal rose, her knees cracking audibly. She'd been crouched on the roof opposite The Rusty Nail – a semi-reputable tavern and her prey's sometimes haunt – for too long. Keeping the couple in view, the assassin stretched out her limbs, confident that her form was cloaked in shadows. She'd take the high road, leaving her prey and his victim to stumble along ahead. He'd lead her right to his lair. Surreal grinned. It was time to begin the final chase.

* * *

The heart of Kaleer was quiet. There was a pause of confusion and an air of irritation about the soul of the Dark Realm. Before it, lay a tangled web alight with sparks of power and powdered jewel. But the crux of the riddle peaked at its centre where a small, carved dagger was nestled among the twisted threads. Even Witch had never seen anything quite like it, and could not derive its purpose. 

Jaenelle stared at the framed tangled web with fast-fading patience. Her eyes followed the threads, but it appeared to beyond her. It would have been a hell of a lot easier had she woven this web herself, or even a Sister she knew well. Trying to read this Black-Widow's work was just confusing her… it was practically encrypted.

She turned to the creator with exasperation. "_Look at this_, you **say**… _What do you think?_ You say. What you fail to **say** is that the damn thing is encoded in **MALE**."

Daemon smiled. He had been leaning back comfortably in an arm-chair and observing his wife's confusion for some time now, and was more than a little amused. Fighting laughter, he pressed his steepled hands against his lips. The long black finger nails that hid the snake-tooth were clearly visible.

She still saw the smile. "You are so **MALE**!"

"I was under the impression that my wife liked me that way."

Midnight eyes narrowed. "You're very lucky I love you."

"I know." When she continued to glare murder at him, he grinned and stood. "Yes, yes, very scary…," he lowered his voice, "very sexy." She took a half-hearted swipe at him, but he caught her hand and brought it to his lips with studied reverence. The Warlord Prince drew the irate witch into his arms so he could nuzzle her hair, and remind himself that the little queen was all his. He wisely contained the smile that tempted as he felt her resistance melt as she curled into his warmth.

Jaenelle sighed. "What is it?"

Daemon considered the finely crafted blade, admired the fine edge. "Surreal had that blade crafted for Winsol for me last year and inlaid some very fine spells on it. The web is using the dagger to locate her un-invasively. More importantly, it allows me to reach her in case of emergency."

"Papa and Luc are worried about her…"

Daemon groaned into her hair, "Believe me, I **aware**."

Jaenelle pulled back enough to look up at him. "Would you please tell me where Surreal is?"

"Exactly where I told them she was… Terreille," Daemon answered simply.

Blue eyes rolled heavenward before locking on her husband's. "Could you be less specific?" At his arched brow she amended, "On second thought, never mind that. Could you be more specific?"

"Yes to both."

"But…?" she asked intuitively.

His golden eyes searched hers. "But I'm not going to volunteer the information, Jaenelle."

"Which means what?"

"You could probably order me to tell you where she is, as my Queen, but I wouldn't be happy about it," he replied grimly.

Jaenelle shut her eyes. There was no way she would force him. He'd had no free rein to choose his loyalties for most of his life; she'd not the heart to take that away from him just to satisfy paranoia, so she would have to trust that he'd take care of Surreal on his own. She opened her eyes and accepted that he would not tell her.

Finally, she sighed and pressed her forehead against his chest. "Daemon, are you sure that she's okay?" Jaenelle asked, quietly.

She felt him relax as it sank in that she wouldn't ask him to betray Surreal. "Yes, love. Surreal's perfectly capable of walking the streets of Terreille. She takes care of herself, and she takes precautions. I trained her myself."

Jaenelle widened her eyes at that… she hadn't realized Daemon had actually taught Surreal. She squelched the tiny spurt of jealousy.

The Warlord Prince continued, "I'm looking in on her, and at the first sign of trouble, I'll step in." He tilted Jaenelle's head up. "She's like a sister to me, Jaenelle, like you are to my brother. And whether she likes it or not, that makes me one of her males."

Midnight eyes crinkled. "Does she realize you've laid claim to her?"

Daemon ran his tongue over his teeth. "Probably not."

Jaenelle grinned. "Poor Sister."

Her husband lifted a brow. Jaenelle explained.

"She has as many annoying bullies hanging over her shoulder as I do." She ticked them off on her fingers, "You, Lucivar, Saetan, and Chaosti – that's 4 Warlord Princes – and then there's Graysfang, the other 1st Circle males, and whoever ends up married to her… that's at least 7 Warlord Princes altogether."

There was a silence as they considered that.

"That's quite a list," Daemon offered quietly.

Jaenelle groaned. "And I thought Lucivar had a talent for understatement," she muttered.

* * *

Rainier noticed the movement on the rooftops and went still… She was here; he knew it. A sight shield sprang to life around him. Patiently, he watched the roof opposite The Rusty Nail for signs of life. Then he saw her, and his pulse picked up a beat with competition adrenaline running through his veins. A small smile touched his lips as he observed her stretching out the kinks – evidently not too worried that her quarry would disappear. It was a good tactic if you could afford it. Having stiff muscles freezing in the midst of a skirmish had been the death of many an assassin before. _Smart girl_, he thought, _and well-trained_. Not that he'd have suspected any less, given her teacher. 

But he'd been well taught as well, and he knew that the Gray witch was never without her fanged and furry friend. Rainier's green eyes swept over the grounds and focused in on the shadowy alley where Graysfang stood watch. At first glance, you could have mistaken him for a dog, but the eyes, no dog could match that predatory gaze. Rainier let the animal get a head start as he considered his plans. If Surreal took the high road and Graysfang took the low one, it appeared the Opal-Jeweled assassin would be left taking the round-about.

Rainier grinned in anticipation of the hunt. He slipped through the Terreillean alleyways so softly that he was no more than the moving shadow you know is there but can never quite see. The streets lay strangely quiet around him. Everyone knew there were deadly predators out tonight. What they didn't know, was that tonight some of the predators had become the prey.

* * *

Surreal reared back as she felt teeth sink into her arm. She kicked down her target, and cursing, spun on the woman she'd been protecting. The stupid bitch had attacked her! Surreal blasted the blonde with the Green, sending her sprawling into a brick wall. Stunned, the woman slid down to the base. Surreal didn't even bother to make sure the silly creature was alive. She really didn't care. 

Of course, duty might have overcome her disgust if the rapist hadn't chosen that moment to attack her. His blade slid just passed her ribs as she spun away from the long-handled butcher's knife he'd called in. Surreal drew hers from the sheaths concealed beneath the cuffs of her shirt. If they were playing with knives things were going to get nasty. Surreal met her prey's crazed eyes and knew the man needed to be taken down. Her green-gold eyes narrowed on his stance and flicked dismissively over the knife; her weight shifted onto the balls of her feet as she focused. She was going in for the kill.

"I'm going to carve you up like curried chicken," the rapist said with an eagerness that spelled a fondness for blood. _Perfect_, Surreal thought sardonically, _absolutely bleeding perfect. I would pick an assignment that goes after complete crazies!_

His free hand rubbed over his swollen dick. Violence was apparently a turn on, surprise, surprise. "I'm really good with blades, got a big one, if you know what I mean, and lots of personal experience." He waggled his eyebrows. "Maybe I'll introduce you to my blade, later."

Surreal snorted in disgust. _No drug made by man could make me sleep with this _creep, she thought. She dodged his feinted stab, circling around a little. "Sugar," she replied with a wicked smile, "I know you don't have much experience with a knife, but really, do you have to advertise it?"

He frowned at her, and his step faltered a bit. It wasn't big enough to capitalize on, but all she had to do was keep him talking. "What are you talking about, bitch?"

Surreal raised a blade to meet a jarring swing and two more powerful blows, barely missing him as she kicked out. She wanted him off-balance and distracted, so she answered him. "You're holding the knife wrong."

He glanced down at the grip and realized too late that one of her wrist knives had sprouted out of his chest. He gaped at her and fell heavily to the ground. Surreal stood over him a moment and waited until he was mostly gone before she crouched down beside him. She gripped the knife in his chest and said, "You don't carve curried chicken, asshole," and withdrew the knife with a twisting motion and a blast of power that sent the man to the Darkness.

Surreal grabbed his left hand where a ring encircled his littlest finger. The ring the Queen and her Consort had requested as proof. It was the trophy the bastard had stolen from the young Queen. Her knife descended on the corpse's finger, effectively severing it. Opening a box she used for such things, the assassin dropped in her proof of services and vanished the box.

It wasn't until she felt the claw-like nails sported by the little blonde that she remembered the cannibalistic witch. The new wounds stung unreasonably. Surreal back-handed the girl, and swept the feet out from beneath her. Pinning her new victim with craft, she leaned in and spoke in a whisper. "I don't have a contract out on you yet, but I'll kill you if you try that stunt again."

Suddenly, Surreal felt the edge of metal at her throat. She froze, her eyes widened as she recognized the assassin holding a blade against her jugular with accuracy.

"I might say the same, SaDiablo." Rainier said quietly.

Surreal closed her eyes. _Oh, shit._ "Prince Rainier," she asked, "what brings you here?"

**GRAYSFANG! HELP!**

_Nothing._

"What brings you here?" she asked again.

Rainier leaned close and whispered for her ears alone. "Call it a nice… competitive edge."

**

* * *

A/N: Terribly sorry for the wait! Hope you enjoyed the chappie! Thanks for reading and (hopefully) reviewing… Let me know how I can improve, if you hated it… and of course if you LIKED it! All comments and questions are welcome! I'll do my best to answer reviews… **

THANKS TO MY REVIEWERS! (Those I can't easily get in touch with…): Vicki, Ekka, Achenar, Caytlyn Rose, Victoria, crazy and Laura.

_**Erkith**_


	4. Deadly Intent

**Disclaimer: **All characters, setting, world, and other BJT related items are property of Anne Bishop. I only wish I wrote that well…

I wrote this author's note and chapter 4 weeks ago, but was unable to post on FF for some random technological fluke. I apologize for the wait; however, for once I am NOT fully responsible for the delay...

**Author's Note from Erkith:** Another chapter up for your consumption and very nearly 6000 words! And not a ridiculously long time after the last! Are we happy? I'm happy: D! This chapter took so much thinking to work all the little pieces out! I'd love your opinion on them! Hope you enjoy the end result! I hope (but do not promise) to update again before University resumes in January. Thanks to my wonerful BETA, NaraOccult (formerly LadyOccult).

As always,

ENJOY!

_**Erkith**_

PS. look out for a new BJT fic sometime in the relative future! Interesting concept I'm dying to start on!

* * *

**Previously:**

Pinning her new victim with craft, she leaned in and spoke in a whisper. "I don't have a contract out on you yet, but I'll kill you if you try that stunt again."

Suddenly, Surreal felt the edge of metal at her throat. She froze, her eyes widened as she recognized the assassin holding a blade against her jugular with accuracy.

"I might say the same, SaDiablo." Rainier said quietly.

Surreal closed her eyes. _Oh, shit._ "Prince Rainier," she asked, "what brings you here?"

**GRAYSFANG! HELP!**

_Nothing._

"What brings you here?" she asked again.

Rainier leaned close and whispered for her ears alone. "Call it a nice… competitive edge."

* * *

**Predators' Dance**

Chapter Four: Deadly Intent

"Mother Night." Surreal said, closing her eyes. She couldn't believe she'd been caught like this. If Sadi ever found out… well, she'd be going through some assassin drills to rival Lucivar's practices. Training meant she was the damn prey!

Surreal cursed her luck. How the hell had he escaped those cuffs? SHE had yet to figure them out.

A metallic jingle flew over her head, landing by her captive's hands. Rainier spoke to her captive. "Put those on her." The drugged witch stared at the handcuffs stupidly. Surreal winced. They were hers, damn it, he was going to restrain her with her own damn cuffs!

"She has a knife to my throat…" the witch protested dully.

"SaDiablo, lower your blade."

"The little bitch bit me!"

Rainier snorted his amusement. "Well then, I imagine you deserved it."

"Saved her from a rapist and this is the thanks I get…" Surreal muttered, but she lowered her dagger from the witch's throat.

The drugged witch scampered clumsily out of reach, flattening herself up against a wall. Her eyes flicked between the two assassins, bright with fear and whatever cocktail she'd been dosed with. She was obviously debating whether to try to run for it or not.

Rainier decided to illuminate the odds for her. "Her knife may not be pressed against your skin, but you wear the Rose, little witch, and even my Birthright Summer-sky is enough to take you down from here."

Her eyes grew wide. She shuddered against the wall.

"Come now, little witch, we don't have all night," Rainier said in a downright bored tone.

_There is definitely something people forgot to tell me about Rainier_, Surreal thought. _That tone was terribly, terribly Sadi of him. _

Trembling hands bound her with the cuffs. Surreal felt Rainier dismiss the other witch with a gesture, and the witch ran blindly out of the alley. Rainier vanished the rapist's body seconds before the girl would have tripped over it in her haste to escape. Once they were alone, he let the blade relax against her throat.

Surreal swallowed nervously.

She was now handcuffed in a Terreillean alley with a Warlord Prince she'd tricked and tied up last night – one who also happened to be an Opal-Jewelled assassin. _Mother Night._

"So," she tried for a blasé tone, "now that we're alone…"

She got no answer… but shields began to settle down on the other end of the alley way – sight, physical and oral made of dark, dark Opal.

"You're not going to kill me, so why the knife? A threat is useless if you don't intend to follow through."

His answer was a whisper in her ear. "I won't kill you, SaDiablo, but you're a pain in the ass and Lucivar said nothing about… accidental slips with my knife. Besides, I'm fairly decent at healing Craft; no one would know…"

_Seriously,_ Surreal thought shakily, _who introduces you to someone like this and forgets to mention this kind of thing?_

The knife fell away from her throat as he walked around her, and raised an eyebrow. His hands were unconsciously playing with the knife, showing the oblivious skill that came of extreme familiarity. She could feel her pulse pounding.

"Sugar, hate to be the one to point this out, but what's to stop me from blasting you with the Gray?" _Besides the fact that it would seriously piss off our Queen?_

A faint smile touched his lips. "Why don't you try that?"

She sank down to the Gray to try a harmless spell, something to trip him up and wipe away that arrogant confidence. Nothing. A new wave of tension washed through her. "What the hell?"

She dove down again and added more pressure as she rose up from the Gray, but the waves of power seemed to spill out of control as she reached the Opal. Her Gray was useless. That sweet, dark power was there, but shut off, unable to protect her. True fear surged through her veins. As panic flooded her, she reached for the Green as naturally as breath and spilled its power into the abyss. She felt her Green – her Birthright Green, which she'd fought for and with for years, her back up power that was stronger than most would ever achieve – was useless. Its strength broke against the dissonance surrounding the Opal into harmless ripples.

For the first time since she'd made her offering to the Darkness, Surreal felt well and truly vulnerable. Rage poured through her. She no longer cared about upsetting Jaenelle. This Warlord Prince had made her helpless and weak, and she hadn't been either in centuries.

She was a Gray-Jewelled witch, and she was at no man's mercy.

She sprung to her feet and charged – straight into a wall of Opal power. The current that shot through her deflected her off it. She hurled herself against the physical barrier again and again, even as the charges of power shook her to her bones… Her mind paralleled the manoeuvre with progressively deeper and more uncontrolled dives into the wells of power.

There was no logic to it. Fear ruled her – fear that understood nothing but the desire to destroy anything that threatened her. It was mindless, killing rage. It was a state no witch of her strength should ever reach. There was a reason that males were quicker to anger. It was to prevent this blind hatred from ever being unleashed.

When she reached him, she would tear him to bloody pieces with Basic Craft and claws alone.

* * *

_Hell's fire!_ Rainier thought as he felt the dark rage that rose from first the Gray and then the Green, the powers splintering against the dissonance he was radiating from the deep within the Opal. He'd channelled it merely as a precaution against her temper. He'd been pretty sure she wouldn't do him any serious harm now that she knew he was Second Circle; no one wanted to piss off Witch, especially since the uniqueness of Twilight's Dawn had begun to become common knowledge, but he was no longer sure.

The last blast of Green had tasted suspiciously of panic, and that was not an emotion he comfortable touching in a witch. He'd never broken a witch before and he didn't intend to start now. He would have stopped channelling the dissonance after that first blast of Green if he hadn't seen her eyes in that moment.

They were wild and unseeing storm of golden green, like the sky before the funnel descends from the clouds. He knew in that moment that he'd provoked something deadly in her.

The physical shield snapped into place seconds before she charged straight at him. She slammed into it. The shock of magic that fresh had knocked her back. Rainier winced. He knew the pulse of magic off his shields was whip-like; it was meant to stun his opponent as well as shield him. She rose like a demon, as if she'd felt no pain, and Rainier knew he was in trouble.

The flurry of attacks began. She beat against him in every possible way, slamming into both physical and metaphysical barriers, forcing him to work. He couldn't drop any of them, couldn't drop the blanket of Opal. Obviously not being able to use her Jewels had tripped some emotional scar of some sort. He would have loved to drop the barrier for her, but she would kill him. It was not a figure of speech. She would kill him; he had no doubt about it.

"SaDiablo," Rainier called urgently. "SaDiablo, stop! Stop! I'm not going to hurt you." Hate-filled power filtered across his spell. It fucking hurt. "Surreal calm down! I serve Witch, Surreal… I serve Jaenelle. I serve…" he cut off as he felt the uncontrolled Gray. He ran up against his own shield as he realized what was going to happen.

Mother Night and may the Darkness be merciful! She was going to shatter the Chalice.

This was not anger he was dealing with. This was not fear. This was a witch's – no, a Gray-Jewelled witch's – killing rage.

* * *

Daemon was lounging against a wall, content to watch Jaenelle meld with her friends and family. He knew she wished they came together more often. He'd told her numerous times that they were more than welcome to visit the Hall. As Gabrielle was pregnant; however, it had been some time since the Coven had been all together, and the former Dark Court had chosen to go to her on this particular day. While the boyos and witches mingled as if they' never been separated by various duties, they were still stiff with him, and only Khary had gone further than formally reaccepting him as the others had at the official wedding.

So here he was alone in a crowd. Even Lucivar and Saetan had chosen to stay away… He refused to be angry about that – refused. But the snub still hurt. The others were just friends, but the two of them were family. He was reminded of their accusations. _You don't give a damn about Surreal! _How wrong they were.

"Prince."

Daemon raised an eyebrow at the Gray-Jewelled Dea al Mon Warlord Prince who had approached him. "Prince Chaosti, an unexpected pleasure."

"You're hugging the walls tonight," Chaosti observed.

"I am, yes."

"Any particular reason why?"

"Yes," Daemon answered but did not explain.

"Your father and brother are here."

"I know." The quick wave of cold told Chaosti he'd hit it right.

They stood in silence for a moment before Chaosti laid a bracing on Daemon's shoulder. They turned to watch Khary's latest antics in the centre of the room. They made a powerful picture. Two strong Warlord Princes standing side by side.

"I take it my little cousin couldn't make it?" Chaosti inquired idly.

Daemon glanced over at him. _They didn't tell him? Mother Night!_ He thought incredulously. His gaze locked on his father and brother and frankly wished them luck. "No," he paused, debating telling him the truth, "Surreal couldn't make it." Daemon decided now would be a good time to grab a glass of wine and join his wife. Apparently, he didn't decide quite fast enough, because Chaosti's hand shot out to grab his arm. _Shit._

Daemon turned to look into Chaosti's angry eyes. He played the cool bastard. The eyebrow winged up again.

"Where is Surreal, Sadi?"

"Suitably entertained I'm sure."

"WHERE IS SURREAL?"

The room cooled dramatically, and the others turned to the two Warlord Princes. Jaenelle looked at them both. Her voice was midnight as she addressed them. "Princes."

"Lady," Daemon returned without taking his eyes off Chaosti.

"Lady," Chaosti said.

"What is this about?" Witch asked.

"Surreal."

Witch whirled on Lucivar and Saetan. "You didn't tell him!"

The argument that ensued was nasty, but Daemon was silent. He was far too busy deciphering something else.

**SADI! SADI! SADI!**

The spear thread that slammed into him was weak with distance, but the thoughts were frantic. Daemon watched the others, but was ready to respond as soon as he figured out who he knew that could channel from Terreille on a Summer-sky thread. Sending a thread this far usually meant a Dark Jewel. Why then would a Dark-Jewelled blood male send a spear on such a weak thread?

Birthright threads were always stronger if one couldn't use their more powerful jewel… that explained the choice of thread, but the only Dark Jewel Blood that could have Summer-sky as a Birthright was Opal or Green. _What in Hell's name would an Opal or Green-Jewelled Terreillean male want with me? _Daemon wondered.

A fleeting vision of his tangled web sparkling with waves of power struck him, and everything slid into place. Daemon rose to the Killing Edge in a heartbeat, rising so fast that no one had time to so much as turn, nevermind put up a defence to the cold Warlord Prince. Black power tossed Lucivar against the wall. There was a sharp sound of bones snapping. The Prick wheezed a breath through what was probably several broken ribs.

Daemon swatted down Saetan's reproving blast of power with an ease that proved just how strong he was.

"Who did you send after her, Prick?"

Lucivar's eyes widened, but he didn't answer. Ice spread across the floor in one solid pulse.

The Sadist's eyes glazed with rage. **"WHO?"**

"Rainier."

**SADI! SADI! SADI!**

_Opal-Jewelled Warlord Prince_. "Damn it!"

Daemon threw him to at Karla's feet. "Heal the dumb Prick." He reached directly into the Webs, just as Jaenelle had taught him and found the thread for the Hall.

"Prince, stay."

"There's no time," he answered Jaenelle flatly and made the leap, trusting she'd forgive him.

Daemon stormed through the Hall, saw the web was on fire, trembling as great screaming waves of power swept through. He snatched the dagger from its heart, spilt his blood across it, and jumped back into Terreille – the place of nightmares.

He walked through the shielded alley entrance just in time to see Surreal fall to the ground.

* * *

**Surreal…** **Surreal…** **Damn it, Surreal! Look at me!** Rainier called sharply.

She'd stopped throwing herself against the barriers, and though that was what he'd been trying to get her to do, the Opal-Jewelled Warlord Prince was now more worried than ever. Nothing he said should have had an effect on the murderous rage that had been riding her.

She stood on the other side, panting, head down. She shook her head as if to clear it, took a step and stumbled slightly. But she didn't acknowledge him.

**Surreal, look at me,** he whispered through her mind. He wove a spell around her. Trying to fascinate her with seduction tendrils was dangerous, but Rainier was getting desperate. There was something wrong. **Look at me.**

This time her unfocussed eyes flickered to his. Rainier called her again and this time pulled her fascination to his green eyes, willing her to remain in eye-contact. What he saw was bad. Very, very bad. Her pupils were dilated, as if she were on some sort of drug. He hadn't given her anything.

_What had Surreal said? The drugged witch had bitten her. Surely the drugged witch hadn't had enough toxin left in her mouth to infect Surreal with it. _Safely on his side of the shield, Rainier knelt as close as he could to the bitten arm. He checked for poison in the wound with a flick of Opal that made her shiver.

_Nothing._

_Damn it!_ Rainier cursed. **Surreal, what's wrong, darling?**

She broke from the fascination spell and slapped at his mind peevishly, but answered. "Numb…" She stared at her fingers, wiggling them a little. She bit down gently on the pad of one. "Yep, numb…" she shivered and hugged her arms around herself.

_Shit! Shit! Shit!_ This was definitely a poison. Poison was NOT his specialty. But if he could locate it… he could slow it down.

**Surreal, come closer. **

She shook her head.

Rainier caught her eyes in his and used a compulsion spell to reel her in closer. He tried not to puke from the greasy feeling of the spell – he hated compulsion spells. Wiping off his hands, Rainier pushed his shield closer to her, taking the spark off it, so that pressing against the barrier no longer stung. Standing this close, he could see the scratches that marked her neck, shoulder, and chest.

_Hell's fire,_ Rainier thought as he swept his power over Surreal's chest, _please let that not be what I think that is._ But the probe only confirmed what he'd already known. That little, purpling puncture over her right breast marked where a snake-tooth had sunk deep into her skin. That drugged bitch had been a Black Widow.

As he finished locking the poison away, Rainier sent out another desperate spear to Kaeleer on an Opal reinforced Summer-sky thread. _Sadi had better get here soon_.

She began to shake. The warming spells he'd set around them on both sides of the barrier weren't enough. He'd begun to seriously drain his Opal and had switched to Summer-sky in case the Jewels were needed later on. **Hold on.** Rainier told her. **Sadi's coming.**

"Dae..Dae… m-m-mon?"

The girl-like hope that threaded through her shivering voice was very un-Surreal. His throat closed. Mother Night, what was he supposed to do for her? **Yes, darling, Daemon's coming.**

"Going… to… be… m-m-mad," she said stammered.

_I imagine so, but probably not at you. _**Why?**

"Caught me… s-stupid."

**Not stupid, very clever. You caught me.**

"B-b-but y-you… caught me too..."

Rainier smiled gently. **Yeah? Well, I'm pretty clever too, sometimes.**

A dark wave of power dropped from the Webs out of nowhere. Both Surreal and Rainier shivered in reaction. Rainier felt someone slip through the shield at his back, but as he turned back Surreal collapsed. He dropped the shield between them to kneel at her side.

"Give me one good reason not to kill you right here," a bored voice crooned in his ear.

Rainier stiffened. It was the first time he'd ever truly played with the Sadist. The dance before was nothing in comparison to what he was facing now. Ice was crawling up the alley walls and street like carnivorous vines, breaking only where the tendrils hit his heat spell.

"I'm Second Circle, and I asked you to come."

"Not good enough."

Rainier felt himself rising to that edge; he pushed it down, but the words came out angry. "Surreal's dying!"

"I know that, Prince," Daemon said softly. "What I don't know is why I should let you live."

"I'm an untrained Healer, and she may need one."

The Sadist looked at him. The cool golden eyes conveyed nothing more than tolerance. Wrapped in a tight, Black shield, Daemon sank to his knees by Surreal, calling to her as he attempted to examine her injuries. "Surreal?" She didn't respond. "Surreal," he snapped it out as an order and she stirred but gave no answer.

"Try spear to distaff," Rainier suggested.

The Sadist's cold, gold eyes met the assassin's. **Surreal?**

"Daemon?"

His slender fingers gently brushed her forehead, sensing that she needed comfort. **I'm here, Surreal. I'll keep you safe.** He said, repeating what he'd said to her all those years ago after Titian had been killed.

"I'm scared, Daemon…" her voice was faint.

**It's alright, Dreamer, I'll take care of you. **

Daemon whirled on the Opal-Jewelled Warlord Prince. "What in Hell's name did you do to her? And why is the magic spilling all over the place in here? I can't even examine her like this."

Rainier crouched down beside her, revealing the snake-tooth puncture.

Daemon's free-hand grasped Rainier's arm in a tight grip. The other continued to stroke Surreal's brow. Daemon was nothing if not extraordinarily coordinated. "If you know what's wrong, why haven't you healed her yourself?"

"I had to wait for you to get here," Rainier answered grimly. "She would have killed me, like any wounded animal would if I didn't."

The Sadist released his arm. "Why?"

Rainier glared at him. "Why what, Sadi?"

"I'm just as likely to kill you as Surreal; maybe more so, why wait?"

The assassin ran tired hands over his face, oozing regret. "I freaked her out earlier with a dissonance spell."

"A what?" Daemon looked genuinely puzzled.

Rainier sighed, "It's what's stopping you from using the Black and your Birthright Red if you've bothered to try it." Daemon looked surprised, and Rainier felt both Dark powers trickle against the spell. "I'll explain it later if you like. The important thing is that it set her off, and I couldn't drop the barriers I set up because she would kill me."

Daemon gazed down at Surreal with sympathy. "You cut her off from her power, tied her up, and left her weapon-less. Yeah, that'd set her off." He gave Rainier a very hard look. "I would think that any man who served both in Terreille and Kaeleer would be more sympathetic to those left helpless."

Rainier glared back, "I wouldn't expect a Black-Jewelled Warlord Prince to understand how dangerous it is to hunt an assassin whose Birthright is stronger than the one he received after making the Offering."

_The dance teacher had spine,_ _who would have guessed? _"So you called me to shield you as you drop the… dissonance."

"Yes, and I know very little about poisons."

"And you think I do."

Rainier glanced down at the black-tinted nails. "I know you do."

**Ready when you are, Princeling.** Daemon said evenly, holding the shield just shy of the Opal. The strange rippling on the Opal web disappeared and the Black shield snapped into place around Rainier. He opened his eyes to see Rainier sitting back.

"Backlash…" Rainier muttered. "I suppose I should release Graysfang too…"

Sweet, dark power returned to him, filling his Opal Jewels, as he set the wolf free from his invisible pen.

Daemon's hands were wandering gently over Surreal's body. The poison was contained, the worst of it neatly locked away from her vital organs. "I thought you said you were untrained." Daemon shot him a sharp look that went unnoticed.

"I am, for the most part," Rainier answered absently. "Do we have to draw the poison out?"

_Untrained my ass_, Daemon thought. "Yes, and we have to start now."

"Could we bring her to the others?"

_Want me to make your job easier, puppy?_ Daemon wondered, or was it actual concern over their combined healing skill?

"Gabrielle's pregnant and the others are busy with Lucivar…"

Rainier smiled faintly as they prepared to do the very nasty healing. "Please tell me you kicked his ass to Hell and back again."

Daemon grinned. "Broke a couple ribs… maybe more than a couple, slammed him into the wall pretty damn hard. May have shifted a few things, if not his rock-solid head…" He lifted a brow. "Why? You got a problem with my brother too?" _The SaDiablos aren't exactly the ideal family to have a pissing contest with, puppy…_

"Not usually, no." Rainier looked down at Surreal, eyes worried. "This is one shitty assignment."

* * *

Daemon sat back in Rainier's hotel room, stroking Graysfang's head soothingly. The poor wolf-pup had been very distressed by the healing and none too pleased that his Lady's Healer was the assassin she had been avoiding. Graysfang would obviously have loved to have an excuse to use the other Warlord Prince as a chew-toy. Daemon found Rainier interesting for different reasons.

Many reasons. Not the least of which was this dissonance spell of his that disrupted the flow of Dark Jewelled power

He studied the man leaning over the bed with some curiosity. That the assassin had even been able to catch Surreal was surprising; that he'd managed to track her down twice, spoke of experience and skill. Daemon had never asked his brother how trained the dance teacher was; apparently, he should have. The man was not a new to the assassin's dance.

Nor was he as unskilled as he claimed with his healing Craft. Daemon's eyes followed Rainier's hands as they swept over Surreal's inert body. The touch was completely impersonal, thorough, and efficient. And the gentle tugs of power were controlled with exquisite care as he continued to use the Opal.

**How is she?** Daemon asked over a general spear thread, so as not to wake Surreal.

Rainier looked up from his patient tiredly. **Well, she didn't do any serious damage to her inner web as far as I can tell.**

**That I can tell from here, Prince.**

Rainier sighed. **Then what do you want from me, Sadi?** He was exhausted. His nearly drained Jewel, a large rock of Dark Opal, hung around his neck, glowing only faintly. He dropped into the bedside chair and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands rubbing over his face. **You're going to have to be blunt with me. I'm fucking tired.**

**How is she physically?** Daemon asked.

**Tired, but she should pull out of the healing sleep soon.**

Daemon studied him, curiosity stirring. **Why did you assume I was worried about her inner barriers?**

The Healer didn't respond for a moment, and when he finally answered, it was very quiet, barely a whisper of a thought. **Because that's what I was afraid of**

There was a deep well of regret there, and there was no shortage of guilt either. Rainier clearly blamed himself for Surreal's condition. As much as Daemon would have liked to set the blame on the assassin's shoulders, he was not entirely sure he should.

From what the man had revealed so far, Daemon had judged him clever and resourceful. To have escaped Jaenelle-style hand cuffs and hunted an assassin of Surreal's calibre was extremely impressive, but the manner in which Rainier had executed it was what fascinated the Black-Jewelled Warlord Prince.

The idea of creating a spell to prevent the use of power above a certain level would never have occurred to him. Just as preventing a witch from diving into the abyss by fracturing her concentration with dizziness and disorientation would never have crossed his mind. Rainier had been right when he'd accused him of failing to understand what it was like to be less powerful than one's prey. Daemon hadn't been worth the danger of trifling with in a long time. Even before he'd made the Offering, witches and warlords alike had been wary of his temper and strength.

But Rainier had grown up in Terreille as a light-jewelled slave, vulnerable to all manner of abuse that none would have dared to use against someone as powerful and wicked as Daemon. He had adapted to his circumstances, and developed mechanisms to survive the Terreillean Hell hole. That wise Summer-sky Warlord Prince had evolved into an Opal-Jewelled assassin with a diverse and unusual set of tricks to be used against those stronger than him.

**You did promise to explain the dissonance spell.** Daemon pointed out.

Rainier looked up tiredly but moved to comply. **You won't be able to use it. **

**I still want to know.**

The harassed assassin narrowed his eyes, but wisely, he chose to keep whatever nasty retort that tempted on his tongue. He leaned back and closed his eyes and began to lecture on the spear thread.

**I was a pleasure slave for part of my service in Terreille, so I know what that's like. The other part I spent as a glorified companion, entertaining masses of aristos with dancing and charm. I was bought by a fairly foppish young witch who wore the Green. As I said, she was young, and she went through some philanthropic stages. During one of these, she granted me permission to make the Offering. **

**I was excited at first, not believing my good stroke of luck; however, I began to believe when she put conditions on me until her generosity was merely another way of crippling me forever. I was not to rise from the Offering wearing the Green. She promised that if I came out with a power equal or greater to hers she would see me dead for my insubordinate ways. In the end, she had to order me into accepting her act of generosity.**

**So when I walked into the Chapel, I knew already that I could not walk away with the Green. The most I could hope to achieve and survive would be the Opal. Problem was that I had the strength to reach a deep Green… I fought and refused to go further than the deepest depths of the Opal. The power pulled and pushed and called to me, but I could not answer. It would have been my death. And so, I was stuck at the Opal, waiting for my strength to reach its deepest points without out me before returning.**

**When I walked out I carried naught but an Opal the size of my fist. She laughed, content that I'd never reach a power that rivalled hers, that I'd never be a true threat to her. **

Rainier green eyes opened to look at the other two males who watched him with anticipation. A touch of grim satisfaction tainted his ironic smile as he continued. **She suffered an unfortunate accident a few weeks later; no one quite knows what caused her to drop dead, a shame. Completely burned out too… couldn't even make the transition to demon dead. It was quite the unfortunate incident.** The emotion that filled the link said that he knew exactly how that bitch had met the Darkness, and he thought her death anything but unfortunate.

**You must have been put back into the slave pens with your master dead**, Daemon pointed out, speaking for the first time in many minutes.

**Everything has a price.**

_Yes, everything has a price._ **And your new master?**

The true smile that formed on the assassin's lips confused Daemon. At least, it did until the man answered. **In this case, the price I paid was not too high at all. I ended up being bought by the Gray Lady. **Daemon's expression must have confirmed he knew at least her reputation… **Extraordinary woman that one… I remain very envious of Jared.**

**Jared?** It was all he could do not to choke.

Rainier gave him an odd look. **Her consort, he was a Red-Jewelled Warlord.**

**Yes, I knew them both.**

Rainier raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

Daemon chose not to expand on that tangent. **So they freed you.**

**Yes, and I served Lady Lia for a few months before I finally made my way over to Kaeleer.**

**Excellent, how does all this relate to the dissonance spell?** Daemon asked. **You must be a really Dark Opal to channel dissonance down into the Black.**

Green eyes studied him with gravity he didn't understand. Then they lowered to the assassin's hands. A more discreet jewel was displayed in crudely set ring on his right-finger. It was the darkest Opal Daemon had ever seen, but there was something strange about it. Daemon stood and drew close to examine it more closely. He took Rainier's hand in his with absent sensuality and lifted it as the assassin would have raised a woman's hand to his lips.

The Opal was incredibly dark, yet something was…off. Why wouldn't Rainier use this jewel to heal rather than the nearly drained one around his neck? Suddenly he understood. In the heart of the Opal was a starburst of tiny cracks… Daemon looked up into Rainier's blank eyes. **May I?**

The nodded assent was all Daemon waited for before he explored the jewel with a tendril of the Black, the power rolled uneasily through it, never quite reaching the bottom of the well. It wasn't the response of _nothing there_ but a scrambled reply – as if the starburst were splitting the power and deflecting it out of the abyss. He couldn't force his power past it…

**I can't use it for anything else.**

Daemon raised his brows, still staring at the unusual jewel. **How'd this happen?**

**In order not to be pulled through the Opal to the Green I had to keep rising and falling in the abyss. Some of the dives were shallow and some were deep, depending on how strong the pull was… The last dive went far too deep and I brushed up against the Opal web, tearing a small hole… my mind survived intact because I had the potential to safely reach the Green below, but the hole had other consequences.**

He pointed glanced at the Jewel. **That's one of them…**

**And the others?** Daemon wondered.

Rainier called in his Jewels, all of them. A small chest appeared, and the assassin handed it wordlessly to Daemon. He flipped up the lid, unsure of what he was expecting, but whatever it was, it wasn't what he saw. Perfect Opals both light and dark shone from within – dozens and dozens of jewels some the size fit for a ring and others the size of the average pendant.

_Mother Night._

**You can't be both dark and light jewelled Opal, Prince.**

Rainier rose to bend over Surreal. **I know. Let's just say I'm a bit unusual, and you should be glad for it. If I wasn't, all sufficiently Dark Opal-Jewelled Blood would be able to create disturbances in the abyss. **

**Would anyone with a cracked jewel be able to do this?**

**No, you'd need the combination of Light Opal, Dark Opal, and the potential for the Green. You need the Dark Opal to channel from, the Green to have the ability to channel deeper, and the Light Opal to continue using power because the dissonance messes up all the Dark Jewels including its own... Besides, who would deliberately choose to not to go as deep as possible in the abyss and then nearly shatter the Dark Opal web?** Rainier asked, wistfully. His circumstances had been rather extraordinary. **I can't use it for anything other than the dissonance spell, because it's not focussed properly.**

The Healer sat on the edge of the bed. Using Basic Craft, he floated the chest of jewels over to him and switched the fist-sized Opal around his neck with a smaller pendant. He vanished the jewels. A gentle glow spilled off the stone's well carved facets as it swung from Rainier's neck.

As Rainier leaned over to see to Surreal's needs, Damon saw her hand twitch. The wolf-pup at his side snapped to attention. Daemon felt something shift in the room, and his eyes snapped from Graysfang's prone form back to Surreal. Her hand slowly flexed, clenched tight, and then relaxed. The predator in him made him sit up slowly, shift into a ready position, something was about to happen. He opened his mouth to warn Rainier to step away, when it happened.

Surreal woke up.

Rainier looked down into green-gold eyes, and knew that she was awake. Daemon saw his body stiffen in instinctive reaction, but the assassin made no move to block the blow that snapped his head back. He made no move to fight back or gain an advantage. He made no effort to restrain her.

Daemon wondered how far he'd let her go, then remembered Lucivar's words: _Rainier is a good Warlord Prince._ Daemon suddenly understood. Rainier would let her exact whatever price she needed to. _Everything has a price_, the assassin had quoted. The Opal-Jewelled Warlord Prince had surrendered to the witch's fury.

Daemon felt Surreal swoop down to the Gray, and when she rose, he knew that this time there would be no dissonance spell to spill that surge of dark power. Rainier was too guilt-ridden and scared of ripping open old wounds to channel through his flawed jewel. He would not risk her panic. At the speed she was descending, anything could cause her to plunge through the walls of the abyss. Rainier was a good Warlord Prince. He would not risk breaking her or sending her spinning into the Twisted Kingdom, not even to protect himself. Males were expendable. Strong witches were not.

Nothing stood between Rainier and Surreal's deadly intent as she unleashed the Gray.

* * *

**AN: **Sorry about ending it there... sort of : p! Will probably start the new plotline next chappie, and I'm very excited about that! With X-mas coming up, I actually stand a chance of getting more out before the New Year. No promises though... already broke one by a mile on **Betrothed** for which I am feeling profusely guilty.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'd appreciate any feedback you care to dole out. I do respond to reviews. Please R&R.

Thanks to those who reviewed chapter 3!

(those I can't get in touch with)

Lola and crazy

_**Erkith**_


	5. Merciful Death

**Author's Note:** I apologize if those of you on my favourites were persecuted by random flaming recently as a result of my appreciating your stories and not appreciating being flamed.

Longer, more cheery note is posted at the bottom. So for now, read on, and as always…

_Enjoy!_

_**Erkith**_

* * *

**Predators' Dance**

Chapter Five: Merciful Death

She recognized his voice instantly. It shot panic through her before she'd even fully regained consciousness. Her fists clenched in an instinctive need to eliminate the threat. That damned assassin had hit every panic button on her radar, evoking her most primal reaction – to destroy and survive.

He was leaning over her; she could sense him there like the predator he was. She forced herself to relax her muscles, lie still beneath him until she was sure she could press her advantage; until she had him at her mercy. People became sloppy with unconscious victims. The lure of apparent safety was enough to make some predators unaware that the prey still had some fight left, like the cornered porcupine that shakes in terror until its assailant finds itself with a mouth full of spines.

It was all she could do to control her breathing. She couldn't be discovered, not yet. She had to think – HAD to think through the lingering haze of bone deep terror. He'd tied her up and stripped her of her powers and her strength. In moments he'd disarmed her more fully than she'd been at Dorothea's mercy. Even being dragged into that little cottage where Daemon had promised to break her and rape her had not reached that level of abject terror that that damned Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince had stroked. At least then she'd had a knife. At least then – even hopelessly out classed – she'd had her powers. At least then she'd had the chance to take her own life rather than submit.

Only this assassin had dared to steal even that choice. Only this male had truly made her weak, and he would pay dearly.

Her eyes snapped open. She attacked, striking out with tooth, claw and fist. Bucking beneath him, she strove to change their positions. She dove into the abyss. The desperate plunge was so uncontrolled she nearly hit the walls, and she did not care. If she broke through the web trying to kill him, so be it. Even if she shattered the chalice, even if she was never whole again, that bastard was going to die. She would release the full depth of her Gray as the threads snapped beneath her if she had to. There was no reason to rise to control it. There was nothing in Terreille she cared about – nothing she would hesitate to destroy. The entire city could turn to ash and she would not regret it.

The Gray web glittered beneath her, beautiful and deadly. Her descent had been dangerously wild and desperate, but the sight of that familiar power soothed her secret fear that he'd taken that away from her, and so she controlled the rest of the fall. She swooped out of the dive to stop her momentum and hovered just above the Gray threads, looking up out at the abyss. It was the last chance to turn back.

The backlash would rip up her body, and probably do even more damage to her mind this deep in her power. She soaked in the sight of the glittering jeweled webs above her and made her decision. So be it. **_Goodbye_**, she whispered into the Darkness. Then she gathered the last dregs of her power and released it upwards and out.

She watched the power rising out of the abyss, like watching a bubble climb to the surface of the water. There was primitive beauty to it. It was a peaceful death, and then… he interfered.

The bastard cuffed her wrists in his hands, fighting to pin her down again, and her rage focused on him alone. She raced after the burst of Gray; she would sculpt, narrow the power, control it just enough to be sure she destroyed him.

Gray burned through the other Jewels, bursting through the Opal with ease and rising up further as it turned on the man foolish enough to render her helpless. It slammed into his body and his barriers. A scream of anguished fury lit the air, and she didn't recognize it. Was it her? Was it him? She couldn't tell. The backlash slapped her from the Green to the Gray, sucking her into the abyss like a vortex. Instinct made her fight to rise back to the safety of the Green where she wouldn't be washed away – swept into the Darkness.

* * *

Rainier stared down at his death and thought it beautiful. His executioner was everything the Warlord Prince in him craved. If he was going to go down, why should it not at the hands of a darkly exquisite predator? She was everything men dreamed of. She was strong, deadly, and the Darkness sang powerfully in her veins.

He could feel her descent into the abyss, wild and uncontrolled, and knew of no way to ensure her survival. But he would not fight her. He would not risk the panic and desperation that would seal her fate to destruction. He owed her at least that.

Rainier closed his eyes to his fate, opening his barriers to her. The instinct to survive was strong in him, but he held himself at her mercy. He knew a witch's killing rage would show none.

Guilt made it easy to dampen self preservation, and Rainier had it aplenty. He'd nearly destroyed this woman. He'd damaged her, opened old wounds. He'd driven her to this desperate bid for freedom. She was a witch, untainted and strong, and thanks to him, possibly insane or dead. She needed to shed blood, needed the kill like she needed air, and he'd let her exact her price and be freed of it.

His death would be swift and merciful. It was more than he deserved.

Warning ripples smashed into the Opal as Surreal released the Gray beneath him. Steeling himself to ignore every instinct he'd ever honed, he sent out a bubble of thought and surrendered completely.

He sank down to the Opal to watch as his Death rolled up towards him.

"Fool," he heard someone snap before dark power surged out of the abyss to crash straight into him. He was propelled into dark oblivion.

* * *

Surreal surfaced slowly - her mind a kaleidoscope of fury and confusion. The haze of panic was dissipating, and the blind, killing rage was fading with it. Fragmented memories assailed her. She remembered being trapped and cornered, being stripped of every defense. Surreal remembered Rainier's green eyes, wondered again where she'd met him before. She floundered through the currents to figure out what she'd done to break free. It was hard to think when she couldn't get a full breath.

Something was crushing the air from her lungs; it was dead weight. And suddenly she knew. There was a body on top of her, and it was lying so heavy and still that it could very well be a corpse. Surreal's eyes shot open in panic. Had she killed him? Could she really have killed and not remembered it? Death might be her trade, but she knew her body-count. Life was not something she dismissed lightly. Surreal knew exactly how many lives she had taken, didn't she? She was just starting to sweat when it groaned.

The assassin sighed her relief. Not dead then.

Worry abated, Surreal noticed other things. Power swirled around her. Eyes still shut, she tasted the power – Gray and… hers. _How the Hell is that possible?_ Surreal dragged up the memories of releasing the Gray, and shivered as she realized she wasn't waking up to a killing field. _But how was this possible?_ Surreal wondered. What she was seeing didn't make any sense.

She was surrounded by her own strength. Her Gray hadn't been cut down like it had before. It was cocooned in dark power, darker than Rainier could possibly have conjured. Frowning, Surreal opened her green-gold eyes and stared – shocked beyond words.

Golden eyes stared back at her.

"Daemon?" Surreal's voice was soft with shock.

He groaned and rolled off her. "You pack quite a punch these days, Dreamer." Crouching by the bedside, he studied her features. Shock or fear had stolen the colour from her skin, leaving her wide-eyed and pale as a child of mixed blood could be. "Reabsorb the power before I let go of the bubble-shield."

Closing her eyes, Surreal reached into the air and pulled the power back into the jewel at her throat. As the Gray faded, Daemon dropped the shield around them. Fresh air replaced the stale, and a shiver ran down her skin. She crossed her arms in defense against the sudden cold.

"What happened? How did you get here, Sadi?" Surreal asked tiredly.

"Rainier inadvertently set off your killing rage." Daemon said. "He trapped you in an alley and had you cuffed and unable to defend yourself."

"I wear the Gray and the Green. How could I possibly be defenseless against him, Sadi?"

He eyed her warily. "You don't remember?"

She shook her head. Her memory was still fragmented – mere emotional impressions, rather than true recollection, making her feel uncomfortable and a little vulnerable.

He sighed. "Some quirk in his history lets him disable stronger jewels with what he calls a dissonance spell. It deflects Dark Jeweled power out of the abyss."

Surreal stared at Daemon for a moment before it completely sank in. "He truly had me at his mercy… I guess that would explain my freak out." The eerily clinical detachment in her voice was a bit scary. Daemon drew her to him, needing to sooth her.

"I imagine it brought back some painful memories. It didn't help that you'd been poisoned by a black widow."

"Where's Graysfang?" she asked, neatly changing the subject. Painful memories… hell, she had more than her share. Her past, particularly that part, was not something she liked to dwell on.

Daemon waved his hand at the far corner and the wolf sprang out of the shadows where he'd been trapped by a Black shield.

**Here**. He trotted over to nuzzle her hand.

**You are not hurt?** She asked.

**No one has harmed me.** The wolf replied, but narrowed his eyes at Daemon with displeasure.

"What did you do?" Surreal asked Daemon, surprised that the wolf was even considering snarling at Jaenelle's mate.

Daemon's lips twitched. "I shielded him away from you when you dove into the abyss. Apparently he does not approve."

"Why would you do that, Sadi? I would never hurt him."

He brushed a hand over her forehead affectionately. His golden eyes were grim though when spoke. "Dreamer, you released enough raw Gray power to level the entire city. Until I grabbed your wrists, you hadn't focused it on one target. I wasn't entirely sure how much I would be able to contain, so I protected him."

Surreal squeezed her shut against the image that drew in her head. She could only imagine the killing field she could have woken to. She sank to her knees to hug her wolf. Petting him, she opened a link. **Daemon, if I ever cross that line…**

**You won't**, he snapped.

**But if I do…** Surreal pleaded.

Daemon gave her a hard look before storming away from her to the window. He would not promise her that. He would not have that understanding between them.

A charged silence fell between them as they both considered what he would be forced to do if she did cross that line. Who else was there that could end her existence without drawing his anger… without arousing the deadly Warlord Prince into a killing rage. It would be dangerous for even Lucivar to attempt it. Saetan had enough scars on his soul already, and there was no question of offering her up to Jaenelle…

It would have to be Daemon himself, or someone expendable_. Rainier?_ Surreal wondered.

"Where is he, anyway?" Surreal asked.

Daemon didn't turn back. "Who?"

"Rainier."

**On the other side of the bed**, Daemon said over a Gray thread. **Don't tell the wolf. I'm fairly sure Graysfang would like to take a big chunk out of him.**

**Serve him right.**

**Perhaps.** Daemon replied, but didn't sound convinced.

Puzzled by his response, Surreal rounded the bed. The assassin was sprawled over the floor as if he'd been thrown off the bed and into the wall. Both she and Graysfang snickered at the reversal of fortunes.

Surreal cocked her head at the assassin lying on the ground. "What did you do to him?" she asked, nudging him with her foot. His head lolled insensibly. Surreal grinned and crouched by him, looking at him with interest.

Daemon looked over at the little tableau and winced. It wasn't exactly friendly interest. _Actually_, Daemon thought, _it looked rather wicked_. She was definitely considering doing more than just prodding the assassin with her toe.

"I knocked him out and off you," he replied. "The fool had his barriers wide open."

"Really?" Surreal asked. "Why?"

"Guilt, I believe." Daemon ran a hand through his hair. "He holds himself responsible for your condition."

There was something strange in the air. Surreal quirked a brow as she recognized what it must be. A memory bubble hovered over him. She probed it cautiously. It was, after all from an assassin. The message was simple: _May the Darkness embrace you, SaDiablo._

He'd absolved her of his death. Had he known that the guilt would swamp her and done his best to protect her from it? Forgiven her even as he'd been on the verge of his own destruction?

A sigh escaped her. She knew the answer. Wrinkling her nose in disappointment, Surreal patted her wolf soothingly. It seemed that she couldn't justify doing him more harm. _Such a shame._

* * *

The last thing the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih expected when he walked into his study was to find a hired assassin tossing back **his**brandy, and looking very much at home on the couch. Lucivar growled.

"Rainier," he said tightly, making no secret of his displeasure.

The assassin glanced at him unperturbed with cool green eyes. "Yaslana."

A quick mental scan of the premises deepened his scowl. No Gray answered his probe. Surreal was not nearby. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"A good question to ask your brother."

Lucivar's eyes widened. "WHAT?"

"Let's just say I had help trotting into your study." Rainier tossed back some more brandy.

Lucivar sank into his chair, frowning over this latest development. "You ran into Daemon?" He sounded a little unnerved by the idea. "Well, he dropped you off here in one living, breathing piece, so he can't be too pissed. Still having him take interest in you is not good."

"Well, I'm glad something about this business concerns you." Rainier said sarcastically. "Personally, I think the whole thing is shitty, and after dealing with the Sadist this morning, I felt the least you owed me was a bottle of damned brandy."

Lucivar snorted. "Fine."

Rainier just stared at him over the snifter. "I'm also taking leave."

"Like hell you are! The job's not finished."

Anger pulsed through the room. Rainier put down the brandy with a snap. "It is as far as I'm concerned."

"Surreal is still out in Terreille. Your job is not done, Prince."

"Yasi, I fucking hate your cousin. I confirmed the rumours; she's in Terreille, near Pruul. I can even give you her last known address. Go pick her up your damn self."

"I can't."

"Well, neither can I," was the irritable answer.

Lucivar shot him a doubting glance. This was his best assassin he was talking to. The man was insanely good at his job. "Rainier, you routinely bring in people that technically you shouldn't be able to kill, nevermind abduct. My cousin won't even kill you if you tell her you're Second Circle… If anyone can bring that stubborn witch in without a scratch it's you."

"Then you'd better leave her the Hell alone, Yaslana."

"I plan to. That's why you're going." Lucivar answered with a grin and a ridiculous brand of logic.

"No. I'm not."

"You are."

"No. I will not." Rainier's tone was curiously flat.

Lucivar leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankles on the desk. "Rainier, I could have you deported back to Terreille."

A wisp of a smile touched the assassin's mouth, but there was no humour in it. There was a wicked lash of bitter irony beneath it. "I've served out my contract."

Lucivar swore. "I want my cousin back in Kaeleer, Prince. I'm in a nasty temper, and looking for someone to collar with it. You don't want to be that person, Prince. You really don't," he warned.

Rainier's temper snapped. Jumping to his feet, Rainier glared back, his fists clenched and his eyes all green fury. "I nearly killed her trying to bring her in! I nearly broke her! I nearly drove her into the Twisted Kingdom!"

"YOU WHAT?!" Lucivar roared. He stormed over to the other Warlord Prince.

"That's right, Yaslana! Your best assassin very nearly took out your cousin. You can thank your bloody brother for the fact that she's in one piece. So if you want to rage at me a bit, I'll be happy to take whatever punishment you feel like doling out."

Perilously close to the Killing Edge, Lucivar snarled at him. "Don't be a complete idiot! You know better than to say **any** punishment. I might want to tear you to shreds. I could kill you!"

"If you like…"

Shock made him take a step back from that terrifying line that was part of his heritage as a Warlord Prince. Rainier sounded like he really didn't care.

Lucivar stared at Rainier. He'd known the man, the Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince for some years now, had trained him. He'd always had the impression that the assassin had a healthy survival instinct. That Rainier had emerged from clutches of Terreillean queens still honoring the Old Ways was proof of his resilience against difficult times… Why was the man practically pulling back his hair and exposing his jugular? Why was there a note of something beyond even acceptance in his tone… as if he half-hoped Lucivar _would_ end him?

As the assassin poured himself some more brandy, Lucivar studied him. Rainier did not look well, Lucivar realized. The glass of brandy was shaking in the assassin's hands – hands that had always been eerily quiet and controlled with the deliberate precision of a dancer. Skin that had always been fairly pale was approaching an unnaturally porcelain colour, except for the bruised cut across one of his high slashing cheekbones and the suspiciously dark shadows beneath the green eyes.

Narrowing his own eyes, Lucivar conjured a ball of witchfire. The extra illumination did nothing to dispel the deep purpling of exhaustion that underscored Rainier's eyes as he drained his glass.

"What in Hell's name happened to you?"

The passive indifference faded as Rainier gave the Ebon-Grey Warlord Prince a hard look. "Nothing to worry yourself about, Yaslana," the assassin answered tightly, "nothing I can't handle." He ignored the growling predator at his back as he left.

* * *

Daemon entered the Keep warily. Beale's expression was as blank as it ever had been, and gave no clue as to what he walking into. He found his wife in the study with her father. Saetan's golden eyes held condemnation. Tightness gripped his throat. Why couldn't they get along for more than a couple months at a time? Why did Saetan's distrust still rip at him? _Surely I should be used to it by now,_ Daemon thought tiredly. Between healing Surreal and saving Pruul from Surreal he was exhausted.

"Is Surreal alive?" Witch asked.

"Yes."

"Then I can tell my brother that she is well?"

Daemon's expression blanked, "If you wish."

"You didn't bring her back with you." Janelle observed.

"There was no need to," Daemon said. "Surreal was happy where she was."

"It was so urgent you had to abuse your brother around and couldn't wait, but not so bad as to need to bring her here?" Saetan snapped.

Daemon sighed, looking to Jaenelle for support. His link with his father was so fragile… and so battered of late. "Rainier and I were able to heal her."

"Neither of you are Healers. How bad could it have been?"

Fighting the impulse to rise to the Killing Edge at the iced daggers in his father's voice, Daemon met cold eyes that were eerily similar to his own. "When I found them, she was in a killing rage, black-widow poisoned and close to breaking the chalice."

Jaenelle and Saetan looked taken aback.

Nodding grimly, Daemon continued. "As it happens, Rainier is an untrained Healer. I wouldn't even have made it in time if he hadn't locked the poison away from her vital organs. Her heart was beating very fast, spreading the toxin through her body quickly."

Saetan swore. "Why didn't you bring her here?"

"You're not listening. I didn't have time. She collapsed even as I reached her. Rainier couldn't even heal her until I got there because he's the one that incited the Killing Rage and couldn't lower the barrier between them. Surreal would have killed him first and regretted it later. So I shielded him as we worked."

Daemon sat down in one of the chairs as he explained the rest. He left out that Surreal had nearly destroyed Pruul when she woke up. She hadn't actually done it after all, and the intention had been to kill Rainier anyway – not the innocents in the city. When he'd finished, Saetan left to consult with Lucivar – cool disapproval in his manner.

Daemon looked across the room to his wife – his Queen – with weariness in his eyes. It ripped at him to be constantly at odds with Saetan and Lucivar. He loved them. They were his family, and yet they were not. Even Surreal, who was much less powerful, held less fear and suspicion of him – trusted where they did not. For that alone his loyalty to tipped to her over them… But Jaenelle… she was everything. If this cost him her… _Mother Night_, he thought, closing his eyes against the midnight eyes that were his world, _I'd have stayed if I'd known it would cost me this, Jaenelle…_ He'd really thought she'd understand.

He'd beg. He'd plead for forgiveness; if only to be able to stay near or be allowed to join the Darkness… He pinned her with the intensity of his need for her.

Then she came to him. Jaenelle held him to her, and she let herself be held. "You're sure your cousin is alright?" she asked softly, no accusation in her voice.

"Frankly," he told her, nuzzling her neck, inhaling her scent, "I'm more worried about Rainier."

* * *

Rainier let Craft close the door behind him and lock it with an audible click. He supposed it had been too much to hope that Lucivar would kill him.

The Prick couldn't even be bothered to deal the mercy blow. Such repayment for more than half a decade of excellent service, Rainier mused; someone should have warned him. Maybe if he'd known, he would not have returned to the very thing that threatened his soul – maybe he'd have been able to resist the temptation to put his skills to good use – to try to obliterate the horrors of his past. Maybe not…

_Damn it all. _He'd been counting on the Lucivar to put him down when the time came.

Someone should have told him the heartless bastard couldn't be trusted hold up his end of the understanding, Rainier thought bitterly. His hands clenched. The resistance in his right hand confused him. He looked down at the object in his hand.

Realizing he still held Yasi's brandy snifter, Rainier made to hurl it. The image of shattered glass flashed through his mind, and the glass never left his hand. He looked at it as if he'd never seen its like before. But he had. He'd seen so damn many… Frightened by what he'd nearly done, he cradled the snifter in his palms as if it were as fragile as a butterfly's wings. "I'm sorry… " He whispered, his voice broken with sorrow, "I'm so damned sorry…" Then, sinking to his knees, Rainier hugged the delicate glass to him as he cried.

Rainier was battered by the images that were abruptly too clear: Surreal's panicked reaction, her body limp in Daemon's arms, the soul deep fear that had driven her near madness. But it was not that that hovered at the edge of his awareness, gnawing away at him. It was not just those images stealing into his sleep. It was her eyes that haunted him – the beautiful green-gold, exotic eyes – glazed with visceral fear.

Memories of it chased him through the day and tormented him at night. Guilt boiled in his belly with soul deep resentment. Food repulsed him. The oily snake of liquor twisting nastily in his empty stomach seemed appropriate under the circumstances, and he had no intention of allowing himself relief. He deserved every discomfort that came his way. He deserved to be punished for everything he had done – and everything he was.

It seemed he had not outrun his past after all.

He was still exactly what they had trained him to be.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading and putting up with the long gaps between chapters. I'd love to hear what you think about this newest one. Good news is I'm in the midst of writing the 6th chapter right now, and I'm going back into memories a bit, so some opinions would be helpful.

For those who await **Betrothed**, I can't begin to describe how guilty I am about leaving you hanging for so long, but I've written myself into a corner I never intended to enter, and so I'm probably going to have to start the chapter over from scratch… please bear with me. I'm going to dismantle it after exams probably, so hopefully it'll be up before the end of May – damned if I'm going to let it stretch out to August 2007 (because that'd be pathetic).

THANK YOU READERS AND REVIEWERS, AS ALWAYS!

_**Erkith**_


	6. Nightmares Relived

**Disclaimer: **All characters, setting, world, and other BJT related items are property of Anne Bishop. I only wish I wrote that well…

**Author's Note from Erkith:** So I know it's been a ridiculously long time… I got lost along the way but am now found is about all I can say. The good news is I have ideas for the next chappie and possibly some school papers to avoid, which may turn me this way again soon. NO PROMISES because I can't seem to come through on them, not even the super conservative ones ducks Betrothed and Spy fan apples. But anyways, here it is at last.

As always,

ENJOY!

_**Erkith**_

* * *

**Previously:**

Memories of it chased him through the day and tormented him at night. Guilt boiled in his belly with soul deep resentment. Food repulsed him. The oily snake of liquor twisting nastily in his empty stomach seemed appropriate under the circumstances, and he had no intention of allowing himself relief. He deserved every discomfort that came his way. He deserved to be punished for everything he had done – and everything he was.

It seemed he had not outrun his past after all.

He was still exactly what they had trained him to be.

* * *

**Chapter 6: ****Nightmares Relived**

Her mother screamed. It was a horrible shriek of anger, violation and terror that speared through the night. Animals turned to catch it more fully in their ears as the forest fell silent but for those agonized cries that bled into the darkness. The land bucked and rolled with the rage of a broken witch. In the village below, men lost their footing on ground that held no want for them. And then, that silent night was broken as Kindred joined their voices to the fading tones in a song older than the Blood themselves as the land grieved the destruction of one of its broken Queens.

Surreal woke up terrified – a scream trapped in her throat. She sat up to take in her surroundings. The unfinished wood of the walls reassured her that she was still in the small cottage her mother had given to Tersa. Relieved, Surreal dropped her head to her knees and tried to convince her body to stop shaking. It'd just been a terrible dream. What Surreal had heard was impossible. Even with the eerie silence that had seized the woods behind the cottage, she could not have heard her mother screaming… Their house was too deep within the woods.

Wolves suddenly raised their wailing voices to the moon, followed by the owls and other night creatures. Unease shot shivers down Surreal's back. Cursing, the girl shoved off the covers and started down the hall for a drink. The floor was cool beneath her feet but solid. Her mother hadn't wanted Tersa to trip while she was seeing through the Twisted Kingdom. Reaching the little kitchen, Surreal stopped short, frowning.

Tersa was standing over the stove with un-cracked eggs and ham in a pan – attempting to cook after midnight. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. It wasn't the first time that Tersa had done some strange things, but this was the first time Surreal had seen her cry.

"Tersa?" she asked softly.

"Oh, little Surreal…" Tersa looked right through her as if seeing a great distance. "I think you should stay with me for a couple more days."

Surreal narrowed her eyes at the broken witch. This was unusually lucid for Tersa. "My mother asked me to help her collect wild berries tomorrow, and I have to practice my craft."

"Your mother… she's not well."

The girl paled.

"I have to go," she said to her, darting to the door.

_Mother Night! It wasn't a dream. _It hadn't been a dream she'd just sat there and comforted herself! Her mother had needed her and she'd selfishly refused to believe! Tersa's hand shot out to stop her.

"Little Surreal, you should not go. I'll send my son to check on her. He's a good boy, my Daemon."

Heart pounding, Surreal shook her head, "No, mama doesn't like males. I need to go to her."

Tersa released her and patted her hand absently. The brief moment of lucidity over, her eyes went cloudy. "The eggs want chickens to hatch from the moldy ham in my kettle. But you run along now, I'll stamp on them if they try to jump the misty fence."

Surreal hesitated in the doorway. Tersa was eyeing the eggs with suspicion; she hated to leave the woman like this. But Tersa had survived hundreds of years already on her own in the Twisted Kingdom… she could last until Surreal returned to care for her.

"I'll be back," she said, "I promise."

"I know."

Scared by the certainty in the black widow's voice, Surreal turned and ran into the forest.

Trepidation drove her to move through the woods faster than ever before, but it was as if the land was trying to stay her journey. Bushes she'd passed with ease only days before were suddenly overgrowing, obstructing the path. She stumbled across several wolf packs, far from their homes, that she had to pass carefully. The wind blew against her. The ground was unusually uneven and sought to trip her up.

When she stumbled upon her home, her hands and knees were torn from many falls. The clearing, however, was worse. Her mother's scream haunted it. Trees and plants a like had reached towards the centre as if seeking to help, straining to reach a frightened Queen. Now they were frozen like that – so many arms beseeching. The cottage pulled her to it, and she saw that the door was open. It was dark inside. Surreal called silently for her mother, but Titian did not answer. Heart pounding in her throat, she summoned a small witchlight.

Blood had splashed up the walls, flecked the overturned furniture, and pooled around the body in the middle of the room. Her mother lay there, clothes ripped to shreds and her throat cut open. Surreal stared into her mother's glassy eyes and sat down in the blood, hugging her knees to her chest as she cried and rocked – as her witchlight faded into the Darkness.

* * *

Steam billowed around him; so thickly that it was like walking through clouds. Something up ahead kept sliding in and out of view, teasing him with the fickleness of the wind playing hide and seek with the sun. Still, even unsure of what lay ahead, he was drawn inexorably forward through the heat and damp. Will had nothing to do with the path he traced … his whole being was centered on peeking through the clouds of steam. His eyes strained to catch the occasional glimpse of what lay before him. It was getting darker, some foreign part of his mind noted. The almost white-grey light that had illuminated the mist had been muted to the intimate, shadowed yellow of the baths.

Rainier paused. Unsure, he glanced around. Then feminine laughter that barely reached his ears snared his attention. He allowed the sounds to lure him blindly until he broke through the fog.

There were many of them. Almost more than the crystal bath could hold.

Women. Women of every possible race and colour bathed together under a waterfall of rich red wine. It was like a fantasy. Blood pounded in his ears.

As if alerted by that small sound, the women turned to him as one. Some of them sank modestly beneath the wine. Others attempted to shield themselves with their arms, succeeding in reproducing the sensuality of Venus rising from the water. Blushingly innocent, the women gave him embarrassed smiles. One of them – an unbelievable raven-haired beauty – rose to her feet, dripping with rivers red, red wine that clung to her skin. She beckoned him closer; her smile impish… her invitation wordless.

He stepped forward to meet her. His mouth was dry with anticipation. He licked his lips and drank of the dew that had settled on them. The salty warmth of the liquid reminded him of tears.

Rainier frowned. _Tears?_

But the woman was too distracting for him to finish the thought. Her golden skin complimented the wine that had painted sticky trails of scarlet over her breasts. Something about the way it ran off her bothered him, but she was still smiling at him – a dare in her green-gold eyes. His hesitance seemed to amuse her, for she tossed her head back in a teasing laugh. The other women giggled and chattered girlishly behind her. He reached out and grasped her hand, pressed his lips to it formally.

The coppery flavour of her skin gave him pause. Rainier's tongue darted out to taste… It wasn't wine, he realized. It was blood.

The sound of cracking glass startled him out of his bow. Rainier looked up at the woman and backed up, horrified.

Accusation and hatred radiated from her eyes. He stumbled away from her – from all of them – in confusion. The women now looked at him with anger and fear.

_What had he done?_

Blood began to seep through the cracked glass of the large bath, highlighting the fractures in scarlet. The women rose from the pool of blood and gathered in the middle. They clung together as the cracks widened and the crystal Chalice shattered beneath their feet.

* * *

Surreal slid from her bed to watch the rain mimic the tears she'd shed the night her mother had died. They ran down the pane in endless streams, blurring the scene outside. The smeared images of people moving outside in the dark wet of the streets held all the substance of shadow puppets. She'd woken to her mother's scream again. Of the ghosts that haunted her, it was the one whose grip had loosened the most over time. She had – after all – seen her mother again before the Purging… Surreal had new memories to battle the old.

Still, she remembered that night with painful clarity. Daemon had found her there, covered in her mother's blood, silently crying. His curse had been soft, and he'd approached her slowly. His voice was little more than a whisper when he spoke to her: "Little one? I'm Tersa's son. I'm here, Surreal. I'll keep you safe." When she'd finally looked up and reached for him, he'd pulled her freezing body into the shelter of his own, murmuring quiet nothings to her. Then he'd carried her through the woods under a grieving storm back to his mother.

That was the first time they'd met, though many years would pass before either of them would realized it. The second introduction had been of a similar flavour – painful, dark, and soaked in blood.

There were reasons Surreal didn't like talking about her past… For her, there was no difference between nightmares and memories.

* * *

Between Gabrielle's pregnancy and Surreal's disappearance, Chaosti had been flirting with the Killing Edge all week. The news that an assassin had nearly broken his cousin had pushed him way over that dangerous line.

Chaosti was ready to string the man up by several choice body parts and start ripping pieces off. Any male – especially a Warlord Prince – would have been. And yet Lucivar hadn't punished his assassin. He'd let the bastard that had hurt their cousin leave his study in one piece. And so Chaosti had an edge of confusion honing his already raw temper.

Now, he stalked through the corridors, feet crunching over the frost that spread in his path. Frightened servants moved cautiously and slowly out of his way, ducking into rooms and side staircases. Courtiers and lower guards backed away submissively. Some were no doubt running to get the First Circle. None of them wanted to play with a Grey-Jewelled Warlord Prince this angry. It would take someone a great deal more powerful than them to subdue him.

Through the Ring he wore, Chaosti could feel Jaenelle's awareness of him, and knew she'd be coming to stop him. The beast in him roared in frustration. It didn't want to be calmed. It didn't want to be stopped. It wanted to destroy the threat – the assassin in their midst. It was going to hunt Rainier down before his Queen could interfere.

* * *

Rainier had lied. He'd lied to so many people over the years, but it was this lie – the deliberate omission in his history to Sadi – that tortured him. He used the word literally.

His very self had turned against him; his body was the battlefield, the spoils and the casualty of the internal war he waged. He knew he was dying.

And he didn't care.

Rainier hadn't touched food or slept in days. Between the relentless nightmares and nausea, he couldn't have done either if he had tried. Exhaustion burned through both body and mind. His power had already eaten up the little fat he had; it was feeding on muscle now. He couldn't survive it much longer. The healers would have overridden his wishes and tried to heal him if they had known just how bad he looked... But they didn't know. They hadn't seen him. No one had since he'd stormed out of Yasi's study.

It was a deliberate manoeuvre on his part. Had anyone been paying attention, they would have noted that he never took meals or even alcohol at this point. He'd had no contact for almost a week. His own healing gifts were all that kept him walking. With them, he selected what would be burnt off first for the fuel his body needed. He only had to last a few more days before he served himself up to Chaosti. Surely the Dea al Mon Warlord Prince would be happy to destroy him, the man – no, the assassin – that had nearly sent his cousin spiralling into the Twisted Kingdom.

And she wouldn't have been the first.

That was his dirty little secret – one he'd hidden for so many years.

Even from himself.

Standing from where he'd knelt for several minutes, Rainier brushed off the knees of his pants. He didn't know why he bothered, but he figured it was habit. Stained green as they were with grass already, it wasn't as if a little graveyard dirt would do any damage. He inspected his work. A passer-by would have said he was admiring the flower bed he'd planted. The truth was that he half-expected it to burst into bloom at any moment.

The laugh that escaped was brittle and bitter. It was so ironic

There was no question that it would soon. This was not the first bed he'd planted. And he'd stood watch over the first few to be sure… Now he knew. Scarlet blooms would spill around this grave in a floral blood pool.

Witchblood never lies.

And neither did the nightmares that were not nightmares.

* * *

It was chance that made her walk down that alley, because if it hadn't been for the ugly bar fight she'd have simply walked by it like she had a dozen times before without some much as a second glance. Surreal made it a habit not to look to closely at Pruul's little side streets. They were home to too many things she'd rather forget. And as she glanced around, Surreal felt her heart rate jump. Just her damned luck… it would have to be the one alley in hundreds that still haunted her sleep.

Memories clouded her vision as the smell and familiar scene froze her in mouth of one of her personal demons. She'd lost her virginity and shed a lot of blood in this little slice of Hell.

As the past replayed itself in her mind, she heard the sounds of a scuffle. It took her precious moments to separate dream from reality and to realize that the whimpers were not her own. Eyes narrowed, she stalked down the alley to the small form that lay, half-propped against the wall about ¾ of the way down. She reached down cautiously to pull back the hooded cloak and felt her hand tremble.

The child was a beautiful little Hayllian boy with a mat of dark hair and glassy golden eyes. He couldn't have been more than eleven. Yet he was already a victim and would never become more. Tears stained his face as he looked at her. His expression so hopeful even behind the mask pain had painted across his face. His body was broken and bleeding, but there was still enough innocence in him to trust her to help. He didn't know he was dying, or that he was beyond her help.

Surreal sat next him in the blood and filth and took his broken body in her arms, rocking him gently as he faded away. She stroked his forehead and whispered reassurances while in her heart she was screaming into the Darkness. _Why? Why this beautiful child?_ She asked. _No one should be violated like this, but a child…_

_It was like reliving her nightmares._

Graysfang had been waiting for her at her hotel. Sensing her pain, the wolf ran to his mistress. He found her cradling a small human cub; her dark hair pulled behind her inhuman ears tears spilling down her cheeks, singing softly to the boy. Both wolf and woman felt the child pass into the darkness. Surreal dropped a kiss on the boy's sticky forehead. Graysfang let out a soft wail into the night. In the distance, dogs and other Kindred leant their voices to guide the cub through the darkness of death. When their voices finally faded, Graysfang saw that his mistress was crouching over the child.

The assassin closed the child's staring eyes with a jolt of Gray in her fingertips to finish the kill and a promise on her lips. When she stood, Graysfang whined. Her eyes shone an eerie version of her green-gold, and her body was strangely quiet; her movements completely controlled. Power, dark and dangerous swirled around her as she caught the scent. Surreal SaDiablo was a deadly predator and she wanted blood.

* * *

It was Daemon who found the enraged Dea al Mon Warlord Prince. The man had been tearing through Rainier's apartment. Smashed glass and crockery lay around the rooms so thoroughly that Daemon didn't even try to walk around it. Using craft he stepped up a couple inches off the floor. Fragmented pottery shards reminded him too much of the shattered Chalice for him to bear the grinding sound it made beneath subjugating feet.

The Dea al Mon himself was in the kitchen doorway, his back to the front door.

**I****have Chaosti**. He informed his Queen.

**Need help? **she asked, still feeling that pulsing anger.

**No. **

"Redecorating?" Daemon asked, raising a brow.

Chaosti glared over his shoulder and proceeded to hurl the plate he was holding straight at the opposite wall.

"You know," Daemon continued conversationally, "I'm aware that the man was your dance teacher, but stopping by uninvited and rearranging a man's furniture is still rather rude." Chaosti wore the Grey; he wore the Black, so Daemon really wasn't all that worried about getting in the way.

Chaosti spat an Eyrien curse at him.

Daemon smiled wryly. "So Lucivar taught you that one? Bad-mouthed Prick…"

"What do you want?"

Daemon leaned against the kitchen doorframe. "I was looking forward to a nice little chat."

The Dea al Mon bared his teeth. "I'm all out of those."

The front door swung open, and slammed closed just as Daemon was about to comment.

Rainier blinked at them.

Chaosti charged at Rainier. Daemon caught him. "Hold up, old son."

"Let go of me," the Grey-Jewelled Warlord Prince said dangerously.

Daemon, ignoring the threat, turned to the assassin and had his fears confirmed. He knew how fast the man's reflexes were. Rainier hadn't made a single move to defend himself.

Daemon couldn't afford to wait for his Queen. Rainier was courting death, and the Dea al Mon was just crazed enough to give it to him. He needed Chaosti grounded now. Daemon returned his golden gaze to Chaosti and let the Sadist rise. The air chilled.

"You want him to suffer. You want to torture him." The Sadist smiled coolly. "You have a lot to learn, little prince."

Wariness started to creep into Chaosti's eyes. Survival instinct warred with the Warlord Prince's rage. Only the criminally insane played with the Sadist by choice…

"You want to rip him to shreds. You want to kill him," the liquid voice crooned. "But, little prince, that's exactly what he wants. You'd be giving him exactly what he craves.

"Look at him. True torture would be in letting him live."

Confusion warred with the rage; the beast was not something that thought clearly. It just wanted blood. But Sadi was forcing Chaosti to think, reducing the boiling animalistic rage to a simmering anger. "He could be faking."

The Sadist laughed coldly.

Rainier's starving body hadn't been able to keep standing in the freezing cold that had enveloped the room. He'd collapsed to his knees, shivering. His head was bowed. The Sadist absently calculated the time he had before Rainier's depleted body went hypothermic. Sadi lifted the assassin's head with a surprisingly gentle touch beneath the chin. Dead green eyes looked up at them.

"No one fakes this well."

Chaosti's anger grounded abruptly from shock. Mother Night. His old dance teacher was barely recognizable. He'd seen corpses with more flesh on their bones than the skeleton before him. Skin stretched tightly over the assassin's face and what had once been tailored clothing hung like sacs around him. "Mother Night."

"Still want to kill him?" Daemon asked dryly.

Chaosti sighed, shaking his head. "What would be the point?"

"Wouldn't be much fun," the Black-Jewelled Warlord Prince agreed.

Chaosti gave Daemon an irritated look. "He'll probably die on his own if we don't help him."

"We should probably get him warmed up."

"I can't believe I'm helping you," Chaosti muttered to the barely conscious assassin.

Daemon grinned. "At least this way he'll be awake when you yell at him."

Chaosti's eyes lit up. "That's true." That sounded like much more fun.

"I'm glad you see my point."

"Shut up."

An hour later, Rainier opened his eyes and looked up at them with disbelief. They'd both just risen and descended from the Killing Edge and now they were joking. The room was actually warming. No, it had been warmed. They were warming him! Sadi, Yasi, Saetan and – Darkness save him – **Chaosti**weresaving him from hypothermia.

"Mother Night, would one of you just kill me already?!" He asked, teeth chattering slightly.

"No." Daemon said evenly.

"Why the Hell not?"

"Not until you tell us why."

"I nearly killed your cousin! I nearly drove her insane!" Rainier shouted incredulously. "And you need a REASON?!" What were the Realms coming to when even that wouldn't help you get yourself killed anymore?

"You didn't." Chaosti said, but it sounded like he was grinding his teeth.

"Not yet."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Daemon went still. The Warlord Prince in him tried to slip its reigns at the implied threat to his family.

"She wouldn't have been the first witch I've broken Sadi."

Saetan and Lucivar inhaled sharply.

_They didn't know Rainier's whole history… interesting_, Daemon thought; then he ignored them to continue, "That bitch of a Queen deserved it."

"I know."

"You told me there was nothing left of her."

"There wasn't."

"Then how did you break her?"

The laugh that escaped the assassin's throat was the darkest, most twisted sound Daemon had heard in Kaeleer. "Oh, but Sadi," Rainier said as if savouring the words, "I wasn't talking about**her**."

"Then who **were** you talking about?"

"What do you want to know?" His voice was bored.

"Name them," Saetan ordered.

An ironic smile flirted at the assassin's mouth. He raised a brow. "How the Hell would I know? There were dozens, maybe even scores." He seemed to think about it. "Possibly hundreds… you know, I'm just not sure anymore. They all sort of look the same."

The room chilled as Saetan's temper snapped. Lucivar and Chaosti held him back.

Rainier just laughed. "Yes, yes boys. Do hold papa-bear back."

The Grey Warlord Princes glared.

_New tactic_, Daemon observed. Instead of offering up his neck as he had to Lucivar and Chaosti, Rainier was deliberately poking the not so proverbial beast. _Damned if it wasn't working too._ Daemon could feel the Sadist sharpening his claws, impatiently waiting to be released the bathe itself in blood. But his patience had been honed by Dorothea herself; he had plenty of experience reigning in that side of him.

"When did you have time for that? You told me you got snatched up right away by the Grey Lady, and you didn't hurt anyone near Jared or I would have heard."

Rainier smirked. His green eyes narrowed with a dark mischief – the kind that found collateral damage amusing. "Well," he leaned forward as he said in confidential tones, "I guess I lied."

* * *

**A/N:** So I have this vague hope that you won't murder me… is that naïve?

Thanks to my readers and reviewers! You guys are awesome and motivating!**Chapter 7:****Tainted Justice** needs to get written!

_**Erkith**_

_PS. Any interest in a Draca/Lorn fic?It'd be a sequel to my next Surreal fic (partly written)… I need to decide whether to leave the door open for the dragon option…_


	7. Tainted Justice

**Disclaimer: **All characters, setting, world, and other BJT related items are property of Anne Bishop. I only wish I wrote that well…

**Author's Note from Erkith:** So I know it's been a ridiculously long time… Good news is I'm back and writing again. But anyways, here it is at last.

As always,

ENJOY!

_**Erkith**_

_**

* * *

  
**_

_**Previously: **_

Rainier smirked. His green eyes narrowed with a dark mischief – the kind that found collateral damage amusing. "Well," he leaned forward as he said in confidential tones, "I guess I lied."

* * *

**Predators' Dance**

C**hapter Seven: Tainted Justice**

It was hatred that stifled the air in Rainier's apartment. Well, hatred and fear. All males that stayed true to the Old Ways were enflamed by the idea of violating that sacred trust – of using their strength to wound instead of protect. Mercurial by nature, Warlord Princes were worse than most when provoked, and Jaenelle's males were worse still…

Witch had been broken by a tainted male, a piece of scum named Greer. Those who claimed the right to protect her had been helpless to stop him. They felt the guilt and the frustration and the pain. If she'd been anyone else, and if Daemon had not been what he was, Jaenelle would have walked the Twisted Kingdom or been lost to them forever.

It was still their greatest fear. To be that powerless to save the ones they loved.

Daemon looked at the other men: Saetan, Lucivar and Chaosti, and knew that they would not suffer an abuser to live. Rainier was as good as dead. You did not question the fox in your hen-house; you shot it and reinforced the hole it squeezed through with steel.

_Which was exactly what this fox wanted._ Daemon thought past the raging of his blood. He tried to reason the thought through. But he had little time. The room was already starting to freeze over.

If what Rainier said was true, then he deserved worse than death. Daemon had to clamp down on his reaction to those thoughts. The Sadist would enjoy that. Meeting out that punishment would sooth the fear and the pain.

If the man was lying, he had to have a death wish… Rainier certainly seemed to be flirting with one, but this… it didn't feel like a lie. Yet how could Rainier have passed under Jaenelle's eyes – Witch's eyes – for years without her sensing his taint?

**Jaenelle? **Daemon sent the thought on the Black.** You need to come deal with Prince Rainier.**

There was a pause where there ought not to have been. **Rainier?** He could almost see her biting her lip. **What's wrong?**

**I'm not sure. He claims… he claims to…** Daemon let the thought drop as he felt the Sadist stretching out inside him.

**I'm coming.**

* * *

Graysfang watched as his mistress cradled yet another dying, broken child to her chest. The girl's head was matted with blood and grime, but he didn't think either of them noticed. Surreal's lips were pressed against her hair; her arms hugging her close as the as she faded into the Darkness. The child would not die thinking she was alone.

When the child's eyes finally closed, Graysfang crept closer to his mistress – cautious and unsure of his welcome. The assassin lay down the corpse in her arms gently, almost as if she thought the child could feel it.

The smell of death and blood hung in the alley like the must of an underground tunnel. Damp and weighty, it was the fog that clung to graveyards and chilled the bones. Graysfang, predator or not, felt his fur bristle. He could feel its claws rake over his soul, leaving ugly, blackened scratches.

He barred his teeth against a whine. It hurt. But he was becoming used to it, and that was worse. Surreal didn't so much as twitch as the psychic maelstrom of violence washed through her. A growl emerged from low in his throat. Had she even noticed?

"I can't keep doing this…"

No, the wolf agreed silently, she couldn't. Not alone – and not like this.

"I can't keep watching them die."

He nuzzled her hand, but drew back sharply when she took a swing at him. He barred his teeth, growling at her. This damaged thing was not his human. She was not the witch he served.

She blinked at him, confused, like she hadn't even known he was there. The feral look fading as she woke from the madness that gripped there. It was growing worse with every night, with every child. A little more of her died with each one, and he had to wonder just how much of her was left. The wolf could feel her slipping away more and more… worried if it had become a matter of when rather than if she would tumble into the shadowed confusion of the Twisted Kingdom.

She sank down against the wall, holding herself together by pulling her knees into her chest. It made her look like the children she was trying to save. The position conserved heat and was soothing. And still she shook.

Graysfang sat down next to her, careful not to make any sudden motions. Slowly, he leaned against her, sharing his warmth, but wary of this strange, wounded creature.

Surreal bit her lip to keep the sobs at bay. They would have torn the last of her control from her, the last of who she was. She couldn't look at Graysfang – hated that he was ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. She knew she was scaring her wolf; knew that he had cause to worry about her. _Hell, she was worried about her. She was losing it._ Letting her head fall back against the alley brick, tears slipped down her cheeks._ She was really fucking losing it._

She was an assassin. The deaths shouldn't have forced a tear, never mind this overwhelming flood of them. The ache in her heart was by no means new. She should have been used to it. It shouldn't't feel like the end. It shouldn't feel like that last straw.

"I'm just not good enough," she choked on the admission. "I can't save them. I'm not trained for this." _I'm broken._

Graysfang whined sympathetically.

"I'm an assassin, Graysfang, not a tracker. I track down names, descriptions, and timetables. I don't investigate murders. I just can't do this, not fast enough."

The wolf lifted his head to look at her. His tail wagged once. **Help?** He asked.

Careful, Surreal laid a gentle hand on his head. "You've tried. He's too clever to leave much of a scent trail."

But Graysfang shook his head, tail wagging slightly. **Not me. Sadi?**

"He can't leave Jaenelle for that long – not even for this."

He thought about it. What other hunters did they know? **Yasi**?

"No he'd try to take me back, and this needs to end. That stupid Prick won't listen."

The tentative wag of his tail thumped to a halt. There was another… the wolf hesitated. **Mean Prince.**

Surreal had to raise an eyebrow over that one. _Mean Prince? Way to be specific, Graysfang._ "That being?" she asked, but the wolf was absorbed in his own thoughts.

**Should have bitten him…** Graysfang muttered darkly.

_Bitten?_ Surreal frowned, trying to force her tired brain to pick up the reference. Who would her wolf want to bite? Someone who'd hurt her. A name came to mind. _He couldn't seriously mean…? _"I'm not going to ask Falonar! He'd probably puke. And that's only if he didn't hand me over to Lucivar first."

Graysfang barred his teeth and growled. **Yes, I should have bitten him too. **

"Not Falonar then…thank the Darkness. Then who?"

**Mean Opal Prince.**

Her eyes widened. "Rainier?"

**Found you.** The wolf pointed out.

Surreal hesitated… "I guess he did, didn't he." She had to consider it. The man was definitely a talented assassin; she'd known that from his handling of her. But she'd looked him up too. He was known just as well for retrievals as for kills. The man was a qualified tracker.

**Good hunter.**

"Thank you, Fangs, I remember."

It made sense, unfortunately.

Surreal gave her wolf a sour look. "I don't suppose you have any better ideas?"

There was silence as the warlord did his best not to smile as he dutifully searched for other – less embarrassing – options. **Good hunter.** He concluded.

Surreal snorted. "I thought not." She searched her mind for a way out, more than a little reluctant to go through with it.

This was going to be seriously uncomfortable. Not because she thought he'd refuse her; he was a good Warlord Prince after all, but because she had a higher rank, was a notorious assassin herself and to top it off his former assignment. Bad and awkward under any circumstances…

But he'd seen her break. He'd seen her broken.

Graysfang could smell the sudden downward spiral. It was like tasting tears. His amusement at her obvious reluctance fell away as he watched her resolve melt. He'd watched her struggle against it before.

Between her encounters with Rainier and the serial slayings, Surreal was emotionally fragile – quick to anger, vulnerable to tears, and recklessly driven. Failure that would normally have spurred her and deaths that would have focussed her anger were instead destroying her.

He nudged his head against her leg, bringing her back. She stood distractedly, but patted his head, soothing them both.

She forced herself to look at the small corpse and then walked out of the alley.

**

* * *

**

Jaenelle didn't like the scene she walked in on. All of the men were pressed up against the walls, as if the room were too small to contain them. Saetan, Lucivar and Chaosti were standing on the side opposite to where the dance teacher sat, while her husband stood in the far corner where he could see the other four. The inexplicable, uneasy tension that had put her on edge was abruptly explained.

It was their disturbance she'd been picking up on. They were her first circle. This close, she could feel the oily turmoil roiling sickly in their guts, could feel how threatened they felt and what instinct was telling them to do about it.

Witch agreed.

Reaching for reason, Jaenelle focussed on the one she'd been called to see. Her former dance teacher was a mere shadow of what she remembered – skin stretched tightly over bone. Her concern centred on him. He'd lost so much muscle that even breathing appeared to be an exhausting motion. _How had this happened?_ A sound of distress left her throat. _Poor Rainier._

She stepped towards him and unwittingly unleashed the men's fury. Those standing broke away from the walls. "**No!**" A mixture of spear threads and speech slammed into her. She flinched under the command. _Why?_ Even Daemon had reacted strongly. He was halfway across the room.

"What's going on here?"

"We're deciding who gets first crack at tearing him to shreds," Lucivar muttered through his teeth.

"What?!"

"Turns out Prince Rainier here has been lying to us about his past… his very dark past," Chaosti bit out.

Jaenelle just looked at them confused. She pushed a tendril of hair back behind her ear and smeared her cheek with blood. Luc hissed at the sight of it.

"What?!" she asked, exasperated… "oh. I was just gardening." And giving the land her blood…

Daemon's eyes latched onto that smear. As memories surfaced, the ensuing argument faded to background.

_

* * *

_

_Gentry_. Daemon cursed the name as he watched the shell of what had once been a promising young witch shiver uncontrollably in a thin nightgown. The brown splotches on the white fabric were, he suspected, a dried matting of her virgin's blood. If the stains were any indication, the bastard had ripped her up physically as well as psychically. The Sadist fantasized about what he would do to the man who wielded his dick like a blade… when he finally tracked him down. He knew this monster. He liked to mark his conquests with a smudge of blood on the cheek, as if he'd gently smoothed back their hair with their blood still fresh on his hands. Only recently had Daemon discovered that the Gentler, as he was known to the aristos, was a man whose moniker played off his name. Like the Sadist to Sadi, so was the Gentler to Gentry.

* * *

"What name did he give you?" Daemon asked his father flatly, interrupting, cursing himself for taking the safety of this court for granted. In all the courts he'd served since he'd heard it, he'd looked for this name among the listings.

Saetan's golden eyes narrowed, "Lefay. Rainier Lefay. Why?"

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees.

"Lefay, is it?" the Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince repeated softly. "In the Old Tongue the Fay are known by another name, and I think so are you. Tell me, destroyer, what is your name?"

"Gentry."

A chair across the room exploded. Everyone except predator and prey jumped.

As the splintered wood fell at their feet, it was the Sadist who glided towards Rainier. "So it is you then. Finally we meet, Gentler."

"So you do know me… how sweet." Rainier's voice slipped again into a twisted, chiding darkness.

"I've been looking for you."

"Tsk, tsk! We've danced before, Sadist."

"I should have recognized you then. But someone told me you were a good Warlord Prince." The crooning voice took on a tone somewhere between bitterness and amusement, as if it mattered very little now.

Lucivar, who had vouched for Rainier, hissed through his teeth in reaction, but Gentry seemed to find something amusing in it.

"Oh, by some people's standards I am **very** good Warlord Prince." His growing smile taunted the creature before him. "And Sadi," he leaned forward to whisper, "so are you."

"No!" The Sadist denied. The force of his anger lifted Gentry off his knees, pinning him to the wall several feet behind him.

Gentry coughed twice, spitting out blood. Seeing it, he laughed. "See?" he said. "You like pain and blood. You have the hatred in your veins; you burn with the need to destroy, Sadist, just like me."

"No." This time it was Saetan who spoke the word, and it was calm with certainty. He laid his hand gently on his son's shoulder. "Daemon is not like you, Gentler. Not even the Sadist in him is like you. The Sadist hunts the predators; you prey on the victims. Daemon is nothing like you."

"No, Daemon is nothing like you, Gentler." Witch's voice quieted the room. "But neither is Rainier."

Rainier cursed under his breath. He'd been afraid of this: that Witch would see through the game, through the projection of the madness hiding inside him. "You talk of them like they are separate people, Witch. They're not. Not even like you and Jaenelle – two sides but one personality housed within. The Sadist is Daemon. Rainier is me and I am him."

"You lie."

"Pretty sure I mentioned that already."

"Rainier would never hurt a woman on purpose. I know it." Witch challenged. "I know it."

"Nope." He answered with another hair-raising dose of that cheerfully wicked laughter.

Midnight eyes narrowed. "You are not Rainier."

"Said that too, if you'll recall." Rainier's mouth said with a smartass' smile.

"And who would you be then?" A voice asked from the doorway. They all turned to see Surreal leaning negligently against it, stared at her. "Well now, I'm hurt. Seems someone forgot to invite me to today's little party."

* * *

"Want to tell me what this is all about?" Surreal asked more seriously now that she had their attention, because she needed to know. They were all being seriously weird.

"Seems I finally found the Gentler, Surreal," said Daemon. No one else could have put that much menace behind such a lazy voice.

Surreal froze. She turned to Rainier. "Is it true?"

"Yes." The admission flat and simple punched through the room.

Rage answered, rising in the men and in Jaenelle. But in Surreal there was nothing. No matching wave of emotion flooded through her.

**STOP**

Rainier looked up to see the Surreal was walking towards him. Power held her in place. There was no anger in her expression only pity. He must have finally stepped into the Twisted Kingdom; how could there be pity for the likes of him? _There was blood, so much innocent blood on his hands._

"Let me go."

"He just admitted to being the Gentler, Surreal. That's a death warrant if I ever heard one. He's dangerous, too dangerous."

She was fighting them, fighting them to get to him. _Why?_

"This is my fault," she said. "This is because of me."

"Surreal!"

"Didn't you ever figure it out, Daemon?" her usually brash voice, quiet and young. "How many years, in how many courts did we hunt for him? Did you never realize how they hid him from us?"

"What are you saying?"

"He's a sleeper, Daemon – the perfect assassin hiding in plain sight – one who didn't even know what he did." She took advantage of their shock and walked over to Rainier, kneeling before him.

He wouldn't look at her. "I killed them… I broke them and I killed them."

She lifted his chin, so those tortured eyes would have to meet hers. "Yes," he flinched at the confirmation, "but you don't remember, do you?"

"Dreams," he said, "only dreams." He shuddered as she cupped his cheek in her hand.

"It was me, wasn't it?" she murmured, "me that made you remember."

He just looked at her.

"I'm sorry."

"We should put him down," Lucivar said.

Surreal turned on him. "He's as much a victim as anyone!" The anger that had been missing from her before rose now.

"If the Gentler is who I think he is, then he's too vicious and too dangerous to be left alive. He's killed hundreds of women, Surreal. Look at him," he gestured at Rainier's emaciated body, "it'd be a kindness to snap his neck."

"And you're good at that aren't you!" she accused with the knowledge of his mercy killings alive in her eyes.

"He's a witch breaker, a witch killer! He can't live with that, and we can't let him live with it either. He's a fucking disaster just waiting to be happen."

"Oh sure, 'cause you're so innocent and so totally sane! You've never done anything you regret or crazy under the influence of say… safframate!"

"Safframate!" Rainier's unexpected laugh cut the building argument. "Mothernight, I wish, but they'd never have done it. I used to wish they'd use safframate."

There was a shocked silence.

"Why in Hell's name…?"

"It made it easier to be their pawn. I'm allergic to the drug. In small doses it turns me into their version of a 'good' Warlord-Prince: vicious, psychotic and obedient." He said bitterly. "Unfortunately, I also black out and don't remember a thing, which meant I didn't suffer enough for those bitches. They started using something else so I could keep my nightmares."

Saetan broke the silence that caused. "How did you know?"

Rainier gave him a scathing look. "They told me what I'd done the next day. They knew what kind of man I was – knew how to twist the knife deeper once they discovered. But they started giving me something milder once I grew numb to their post-coital reenactments."

"And after that the black outs stopped?" Surreal asked.

Rainier closed his tired eyes. "Mostly."

Only mostly? The others wondered.

"How many times a month would you have a memory lapse?" Saetan asked urgently.

"A couple times, now and then… nothing specific."

Daemon hissed in sick appreciation, meeting his father's eyes. "That's how they did it then."

"I think so."

"Bitches!" Luc swore, hurling something – a vase maybe, Rainier wasn't sure – into opposite wall. But yeah, there was an understatement.

Rainier watched as they gathered to discuss it. He felt numb. It wasn't his fault those women were dead. It felt like his fault. Even now he could feel that awoken predator in him… the Gentler lying just below the surface.

"We'll lock him up and care for him until we can be sure he won't go crazy on us," Saetan murmured.

"A little late on that," Lucivar muttered.

_They HAD to kill him before he hurt someone else._ Surreal had been the first, but now that H_e_ was awake she wouldn't be the last.

Surreal came back to his side and he flinched away from her soothing touch. His green eyes confused by the pity in hers. He was a monster. "I hurt you."

Her head tilted in that way of hers, considering. "You saved me."

"After I hurt you."

"Details," she said flippantly.

He stared at her.

Her lips curved. She turned back to the others who were still discussing his fate and told them: "You don't have to worry about that. He's coming with me."

* * *

**A/N:** Soon I promise. SOON as in normal person soon not me soon :)

_**Erkith**_


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